


Rain King

by unrestedjade



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Cannibalism, Fontcest, M/M, Post-Game AU, Sibling Incest, Stranded on an Island, mention of past noncon, mistaken for gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:48:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21911710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrestedjade/pseuds/unrestedjade
Summary: After the Barrier came down, Papyrus left on a trip to explore the surface. The plane went down. Sans went out to look for him. And then his plane went down. A fairly stupid story (that came to me in a dream the night after a bad bout of heat stroke) about a mysterious island populated by humans and monsters that never stopped living peacefully together.
Relationships: Papyrus/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 143





	1. I hear tarantulas taste like lobster and idk enough to dispute it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psycho4sans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psycho4sans/gifts).



> Way back in mid 2016, I opened my inbox for requests with the promise I'd fill every single one no matter what it was. And my dear sweet beta, psycho4sans, waited and waited and waited and waited. And now it's almost 2020, the bulk of this is 2-3 years old, it's been sitting in my drafts for all this time like a figurative albatross around my neck (how many metaphors is that mixing?) and I can't take the guilt anymore. It's the tell-tale heart of mediocre problematic fic and it's gotta make it out into the wild and just be what it's gonna be.
> 
> So here's part one. It's not my best, but it's the best I can do! And yes, the irony of gifting my beta a very late and very unbeta'd fic is not lost on me.

The radio was the first thing to go, signal erupting in skull-splitting interference on every channel. Sans ripped the headset off and threw it aside. 

The instruments were next. From there, the storm and his own fatigue led to the plane stalling. Flying dark, and with the wind still gusting, he had little hope of recovery. 

Shit, he should have practiced this sort of thing more. Instruments would have been fucking nice...

Right. No need to panic. The ailerons had gone out, leaving the wings useless for the moment, but he could still climb out with the tail. That’s what the instructor had taught him back when he’d been studying for his license, right? He pulled back on the yoke, carefully.

The nose of the plane edged upward with his gentle coaxing. Good. Good, okay, he could do this...

A sudden downdraft sent the plane spinning.

“Fuck,” Sans growled, wrenching at the yoke out of animal reflex. He shoved at the rudder pedals. No response. 

The plane broke through the belly of the clouds and a view of the gray ocean filled the windscreen, twirling, distant but swiftly growing closer. 

For the last five years, he'd covered this stretch of ocean without any major problems. Whatever had caused the short in the plane's electrical systems, Sans wouldn't have the chance to learn from it. Five minutes ago he'd been fine. Now he was done. Completely and totally fucked.

He let go of the yoke. It was as useless as everything else, an illusion of control that he didn't have.

He wondered if he'd really done everything he could to pull the plane out of the stall. To be honest, underneath the terror he was feeling pretty zen about the whole “dying in a freak plane crash” thing. 

There was a symmetry to it, at least.

In the few seconds remaining, Sans wondered if this is what it had felt like for him. The nauseating tickle of free-fall, watching the surface of the water rising up to shatter him into a thousand pieces. Nothing he could do about it. 

The ocean was so close now. 

This far away from anything and everything, any attempt to survive would only delay the inevitable. There was a limit to how far Sans could move himself with his little shortcuts. Yet even though he was more or less at peace with his situation, his body, at least, wanted to live. It made his decision for him. 

Sans bailed out.

  
Sans woke to the cries of gulls and the gentle hiss of surf. Exhausted and disoriented, he struggled into a sitting position.

He was alive. That was good, arguably.

He was no longer in the plane. That was also good, definitely. 

He was on land. That was strange. There wasn't anything on the map for a couple hundred miles around where his plane had gone down. By rights, he should have landed over the open ocean and been smashed to bits by the waves or eaten by some terrifying sea life or something.

This wasn't some crummy little rock sticking out of the sea, either. Sans blinked in the bright sunlight, taking in the beach he was sprawled on. Beyond the beach, a dense jungle stretched away and climbed up the slope of the volcano peacefully smoking at the island's center. 

How was this place not on any of his maps? And how had he managed to shortcut here without knowing where to land? 

Movement at the tree line caught his attention. Sans was being watched.

  
The island was inhabited by humans. Humans who, apparently, never got the memo that the Bronze Age was over. Sans got the feeling that asking to borrow a satellite phone wouldn't get him very far.

Asking them anything didn't get him very far, in fact, on account of them not being courteous enough to speak his language on their uncharted, isolated island. The nerve!

They didn't seem particularly hostile toward monsters, which was good. They were still humans, though, and they were still armed, even if only with spears and knives. When they beckoned Sans to come with them, he obliged. 

An hour's walk through the jungle brought Sans and his captors-and-or-rescuers to a city. An actual city, built of stone and every bit as grandiose as New Home had been. How was this island not on the map? Where, exactly, had he ended up? 

As he was led through the streets, more humans peered at him as the group walked past. There were so many of them! To his shock, there were monsters, too— froggits and dogs and all manner of rarer types stared at Sans from alleyways and rooftops. Monsters that had avoided the Barrier? How was that possible?

The same way an uncharted island supporting a whole city was possible, Sans supposed. 

An earthwork hill crouched at the city's center, and as they drew closer to it Sans noticed that he and his escort were being trailed by more and more of the locals. They kept to a safe distance, but it was unnerving all the same. Sans wasn't comfortable around humans, generally speaking. Being the center of attention in a strange place full of strange humans who were looking at him like he was the second coming of Jesus Christ himself was a bit much. The smaller contingent of monsters following them were little comfort. Sans got the feeling that these monsters wouldn’t see him as one of their own. If this was a bad scene, he wouldn’t be able to count on them for help.

At the base of the man-made hill, one of Sans' rescuers turned to him, pointing at the low building at the structure's apex and chattering excitedly. The human smiled, waiting expectantly for Sans to reply.

“Uh, sure, buddy,” Sans said, trying for a smile. “That's a real nice, um, pile of dirt you got there.”

Maybe he'd just agreed to the grand tour by mistake, because Sans soon found himself being led up the steps set into the hillside.

So many godforsaken steps. The humans were practically carrying him by the time they reached the top. Was he being taken to their leader, or something? Why couldn't whoever-the-fuck was up here have come down to the ground?

A small stone pavilion capped the hill-- some kind of one-room shrine. Carvings of animals, skeletal figures, and complex geometry covered the stone around the entrance. The plain altar that stood in front of it was more eye-catching, though. It was roughly large enough for a person to lie down on and covered with rust-colored stains that continued down the altar legs and into what looked like a gutter cut into the steps. 

Huh. That was...worrying.

One of the humans ducked inside, and Sans could hear hushed but rapid speech within. 

After several minutes, the human reappeared, beckoning the rest inside. Passing through the curtain of shell beads that hung from the lintel, Sans coughed against the smoke that filled the air despite the open skylight in the ceiling. It smelled strong and earthy, and tingled inside his nasal cavity.

The room was sparsely furnished, holding only a pair of incense braziers and a low dais piled with furs at the far end, on which three figures were seated. Brightly-colored murals covered the walls, lit by the sun streaming in from the skylight. Many of them seemed to depict the figure sitting in the middle of the dais. While the man and the woman sitting on either side wore only simple white skirts, the person they flanked was as painted as the walls, and dripping with feathers, shells, and gold jewelry.

The humans Sans was leaning on prostrated themselves before the figure on the dais. Without their support, he toppled awkwardly to his knees. So much for making a good first impression.

The chief or priest or whoever it was sat cross-legged on the furs, unnaturally still. They might have been in a trance. Whatever was burning in the braziers was already making Sans' head feel a little funny. This priest or whatever must have been high as a kite. Or maybe they were just asleep. That’s what Sans would do if his job was sitting around in a small room getting hot-boxed by whatever was burning in here. 

The priest was so heavily decorated and the room was so dim and hazy with smoke that it took a long while for Sans to realize that this person wasn't a human at all, but a monster. A skeleton, in fact.

Well, that was something, at least. Maybe they could explain what the hell was going on. Sans' mind returned to the altar outside with trepidation. He hadn't survived a goddamn plane crash just to get sliced up or tossed into a volcano or fed to a giant crocodile or anything ridiculous like that.

He still hadn't found… He couldn't accept dying when he still wasn't sure. 

The skeleton shifted, jewelry clinking as they rose to stand. When they walked, it was with a sleepy grace that suggested they were on autopilot. Beads and bangles jingled with each step. The rhythm faltered, however, as they drew close. The odd skeleton seemed to wake up somehow, uncertainty and confusion in their body language as they got a better look at Sans. 

Sans shifted on his knees. Should he be worried? The way they acted, like he was an alien, or something… He wanted to say something, find out if the monsters here even spoke the same language as him, but Sans refrained. Volcanoes, and so on. He didn't want to take any unnecessary chances.

The skeleton knelt down in front of him with a final jingle of anklets and beads. They reached out. Sans flinched, but the skeleton only took his face gently in both hands. They stared at him hard, and Sans noticed where the paint was running down their face, the designs ruined by their tears.

“Is that...is that really you?”

Time stopped. Sans swayed, and if it weren't for the other skeleton's grip he might have fallen over. 

He knew that voice. It was a voice he hadn't heard in five years, a voice he'd given up hope of ever hearing again.

Five years of searching that had become merely a habit, a set of motions, a solitary prayer Sans knew would never be answered. Five years lost and gone and dead. Under the strange clothing and the gold and the paint, there he was. Alive. Right here.

Sans reached out with shaking hands, marring the face paint further because he had to feel the bones himself, make sure his eye sockets and mind weren't playing tricks. He was here. He was alive and he was here. Sans had found him.

“Yeah,” he said, the word carried out on a joyful sob. “Yeah, Papyrus. It's me.”

The days passed quickly. As much as Sans didn't want to spend all his time sleeping (for once), his brush with death and the emotional toll of finding his lost-at-sea brother by pure, wild chance had really taken it out of him. He and Papyrus had stayed up all of that first night, talking and crying and laughing and just…being together. After that, though, Sans slept like a baby for several nights. He felt like he was recovering from a long illness he’d been living with unawares. Or coming back to life, slowly, after spending the last five years as a dead man walking. 

Half-awake, he stretched, still pleasantly sleepy and warm. As he had each morning since he'd found himself here, Sans jolted at the brief flash of panic that he'd dreamed it all. That Papyrus was still lost forever and dead, that the crash and the island was an elaborate fantasy cooked up by a brain that couldn't move on.

But no, that was stupid. Sans definitely didn't sleep in an airy stone room like this, in a bed covered in colorful woven blankets and animal hides. The panic receded.

“Good morning, brother.” Sans looked to see Papyrus standing in the doorway, one hand holding the bead curtain aside. “I haven't been here long,” he said, ducking his head bashfully. “I happened to be walking by and heard you moving around. Did you sleep well?”

Sans grinned. “Of course, bro. I'm a pro sleeper, don't you remember?” It had been five years since he'd been untroubled by nightmares and well-rested, but it was a moot point now.

Ducking through the curtain, Papyrus crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “Yes,” he said, smiling. “I remember.”

Not for the first time since he'd arrived, Sans caught himself staring. He couldn't help it-- he'd resigned himself to never seeing his brother again, and now that they were reunited it felt like he had to relearn his face, his gestures. Everything. 

The tropical sun had bleached Papyrus' bones pure white. Even indoors, he practically glowed. He looked healthier and stronger than he had before. The last five years had apparently been good to him. That was a comfort. If he had to be a castaway, at least it was in a nice place where he'd had care and company. 

Even if the whole 'god' thing was a little weird. They’d have to talk more about that soon. Papyrus had done his best to explain how he fit into the islanders’ cosmology as some kind of weather god, but Sans couldn’t quite follow it all. Admittedly, he’d been too overwhelmed by the fact of Papyrus’ living presence to pay much attention. But there were already monsters here— surely the humans knew what Papyrus actually was, right? Did they worship anything and everything that washed up on the beach? 

Sans would be the first to admit that they could have picked a worse god than Papyrus, who was far kinder and more eager to please than any real god would be. At least the humans seemed to realize how lucky they were to have him. They way they fussed over him wasn’t too far off from his brother’s old visions of popularity from when they’d still been stuck Underground. Sometimes the universe got things right. 

“Sans?”

Sans flinched. “Yeah?” Crap, he’d been staring that whole time. 

“Are you alright?” Papyrus reached out to feel Sans’ forehead with the inside of his wrist. It was cool, and Sans found himself leaning into the touch. 

“Fine,” Sans said, drawing himself up straight and forcing himself to look away, out the window. He’d turned into such a sap, acting like Papyrus was going to vanish if Sans took his eyes off him for a second. “Guess I’m still a little sleepy, heh.”

“We don't have anywhere to be until evening, so there's no rush,” Papyrus said, chipper as ever and for once not lecturing him for lazing in bed too long. “But there's breakfast when you're ready.”

Sans shrugged. “I could eat.” He pulled a face. “Uh...long as it's not tarantulas again.”

“Picky, picky!” Papyrus made a mock scolding gesture and laughed.

God, Sans had missed that laugh. Just as dorky as ever. Five years of worship and associated bullshit hadn't changed that a bit. Papyrus was still Papyrus. Sans was starting to feel more like himself, too. Without making the conscious decision to do it, Sans leaned over and hugged his brother. 

Papyrus returned the hug, his arms seeming to move ahead of his brain even as he asked, “Are you sure you’re alright, Sans? You don’t have to eat the tarantulas if you don’t like them.”

“Heh!” Burying his face against Papyrus’ chest to muffle the embarrassing quiver in his voice, Sans shook his head. “I’m fine, bro. Just happy you’re here.”

“I’m happy you’re here, too,” Papyrus said, softly. His arms were solid and his chest was warm, and Sans couldn’t help but think how nice it would be to lie back down for a while, just like this. He sighed, inhaling Papyrus’ scent. 

…Okay, that was little weird. And the hug had officially gone on too long and was now Awkward. Sans pushed himself away, gently and with reluctance. “So! Breakfast, huh?”

Papyrus stood from the bedside and made a point of straightening his jewelry. “Yes, we should definitely go have breakfast!” He nodded. “That is the most important meal of the day, or so I have read.”

“Yeah,” Sans said, feeling the back of his neck flush, “for sure.” Great, he’d managed to make Papyrus uncomfortable. What the fuck had come over him? 

He tried to turn it into a joke in his head. Something about…you can sniff your chest, and you can sniff your brother, but you can’t sniff your brother’s chest? That didn’t work. The punchline conflicted with the setup. What about a knock knock joke? Who’s there? Don’t sniff. Don’t sniff, who? Don’t sniff your brother, you sicko. 

That one worked. Wasn’t too funny, though. 


	2. what, you're too good for the lobster of the land?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A smaller chunk this time, because in retrospect I should have split the first chapter earlier. Welp!
> 
> I've heard tarantula tastes like a cross between chicken and crab? Intriguing.

Tarantulas were definitely on the menu-- a heaping plate of them-- but there was a lot of non-arachnid stuff laid out on the table in the main room. 

“I've been meaning to ask,” Sans said, picking up a mango (or maybe it was a papaya?) from a bowl, “This is monster food, so why are the humans the only ones I ever see hauling stuff in and out of here?”

Papyrus selected a particularly crunchy-looking tarantula from the plate. “I don’t think monsters prepare any of this, or at least I’ve never seen them. The priests do something to it to turn it normal.” He paused to pop a leg into his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully. “I'm not sure what, exactly. They seem to think cooking is beneath me,” he added, “and they never bring it up. Perhaps they asked the monsters here to teach them how to do it? I’m sure they wouldn’t presume to ask them to do any work themselves, though. The people here are very keen on not angering the spirits.”

“I can see that.” Sans gestured at their surroundings. Located in a quieter part of the city away from the central hill and its shrine, the re-purposed temple Papyrus lived in wasn't overly large. Even by modern standards, though, it was pretty damn nice. It was cool during the day and comfortable at night, and nicely furnished. The priests kept everything clean and made sure Papyrus had everything he wanted— ordained room service. 

Being a god had perks.

“Yes,” Papyrus said, smiling. “I'm very well taken care of. I've been fortunate since the...” he trailed off, smile fading. “Since the accident.”

Sans frowned. “Sorry it took me so long to find you.”

Papyrus waved him off. “Oh, no, you've nothing to apologize for! If anything, I should apologize to you, since now you're stuck here on my account.”

“I'm just glad you're okay,” Sans said, nibbling a piece of the fruit. He wasn't a huge fan of whatever it was, mango or papaya, but it was better than spiders. “And hey, if we put our heads together, maybe we can figure out a way out of here.”

“Oh?” Papyrus blinked. “Yes, I suppose so.”

He didn't seem too excited about the idea. That was weird. Maybe he just didn't want to get his hopes up. It had been a long five years for Sans, after all. It must have been even harder for Papyrus, alone in a strange place like this. 

“So, you said we have somewhere to be tonight?” Sans asked, eager to move on from such a depressing topic. “What's up with that?”

Papyrus took another bite of his spider. “The queen's aunt passed away yesterday morning. As the city's patron gods,” he said, gesturing with a crispy leg, “we're expected at the funeral feast.”

Oh, a funeral. That was kind of a drag. An unexpected plural grabbed Sans' attention. “'Gods,'” he said, frowning. “As in, more than one? The both of us?”

“Well, what else would you be to them?” With his breakfast tarantula finished, Papyrus crossed to the large, open archway that dominated the east wall. He gazed out at the azure sky and the royal family’s home nestled in the greenery half a mile away. “The issue is in deciding which god you are, evidently.”

Set against the dewy vegetation outside and bathed in sunlight, Papyrus really did glow. No wonder he’d been mistaken for a god. He looked the part. Sans redirected his attention to the view outside the archway. It was a nice view. The buildings in this part of the city were pretty, and all kinds of flowering plants and trees were in bloom. Very nice. He’d definitely meant to stare out the window, not at…

Right, they were talking about something. Something that had Papyrus standing just a little too straight, arms crossed over his chest as though shielding himself. 

Sans shrugged. “You didn't just tell them? That’s the con here, right? These people see an unfamiliar monster and go 'Wow, that guy doesn't have any skin! He must make corn grow, or something! We should give him a sweet house and grovel at his feet on the regular!'”

“That’s not how it happened,” Papyrus said, affronted, though the hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. “And it's not quite that simple.” He shook his head ruefully. “The rain kings are tricksters. Anything I say to them, they take it as a riddle or a test of some kind.” 

Sans wondered how many times over the last five years Papyrus had tried and failed to make himself heard here. It was a little funny to think that, of all the roles he could land in, his brother had ended up playing a joker. It really didn’t suit him. 

“As near as the priests have been able to narrow it down, you're either my twin king or one of the nastier plague gods. We need to convince them that you're the former and not the latter.”

Sans picked out some unknown vegetable from the spread on the table, gnawing at it thoughtfully. It was mild, not too bad. Would be better deep-fried with salt. Maybe once he could hold a conversation with the humans in charge of the grub he could pass along a suggestion or two. “Can't you, I don't know, make them listen? I mean, it's not even lying-- we literally are brothers.”

For an instant, Papyrus' slight smile turned brittle. He shook it off quickly, but a certain weariness lingered in the set of his shoulders. “They don't really listen to me about things like this. They have their beliefs and their rules, and nothing I tell them changes anything. I've tried.” He shrugged. How weird, to see him resigned about, well, anything.

The perks of being a god came with a few drawbacks, huh? Well, it wasn't worth upsetting Papyrus to keep pushing the issue. “Okay,” Sans said, joining his brother at the archway. “We'll be convincing, then. Actions speak louder than words, right?” He just had to think brotherly thoughts and not give anyone the plague. Easy! He did both those things all the time without even trying. No reason to worry.

Posture still ramrod straight, Papyrus nodded. “Yes, exactly. If we can get the act right, they'll have to accept that you are who we claim you are.”

“Makes sense.” Just like when he’d plan out new puzzles and human traps, Papyrus benefited from Sans’ affirmations. Helped grease the rails, mentally speaking. It felt good to fall back into these old, well-worn conversational rhythms after so long. 

“There are certain...let's call them social mores that we'll have to exploit,” Papyrus went on, fussing with the gold collar that adorned his collarbones. “To them, it would be ironclad proof of your identity. It would take a significant commitment, though, and it wouldn't be...comfortable.”

What was Papyrus acting so cagey for all of a sudden? Sans shrugged, masking his concern with an easy smile. “Well, so what happens if they decide I'm the other guy?”

Papyrus' gaze slid to the cloud-wreathed volcano, miles away at the island's center. “They think the caldera is the gateway to the underworld. I highly doubt they want a plague god wandering around their city— or sniffing around me, for that matter.”

Good to know that Sans' worries regarding getting chucked into a volcano weren't just ridiculous flights of fancy. What a relief.

“I'll take a hard pass on the plague god thing, then,” he said, chuckling while his non-existent insides liquefied. Volcano? No thanks. Nope. Even the chance to do a badass Arnold thumbs-up as he sank couldn’t tempt him. Mostly because he’d be a puff of dust before he even hit the surface. 

“Not that I'd allow that to happen, of course,” Papyrus said, wringing his hands, “but these are really very nice people once you get to know them, and I'd hate to have to do anything drastic...”

Sans wasn't sure he liked the odds on two monsters against every human and monster on the island. Neither of them were pushovers, but humans were strong, and there were a lot of them. Papyrus had called it right-- playing along with these people's odd monster-based religion was their best bet. Sans would never ask his brother to fight on his behalf, anyway. Papyrus was a lover, not a fighter. 

“Guess that just leaves Plan A, huh? What's the big deal?” 

“They're very strict about monogamy here,” Papyrus said, fidgeting so much that he jingled softly, beads shivering on their cords. “Which, I suppose, leads to their peculiar ideas about twins…?” He would not make eye contact.

Sans couldn't see the connection. “How peculiar are we talking? Because I'm not sure anything is gonna rank higher than that,” he said, pointing to the volcano in the distance, “on my list of shit I want no part of.”

Papyrus leaned against the archway as though trying to push his way into the stones to escape the conversation. That wasn’t like him at all; he was one of the most forthright monsters Sans knew. “I couldn't say. It's going to be fairly high up the list.”

“Come on, bro, it can't be that bad.” Sans let the grin drop, openly concerned. Papyrus was really agitated over this. He didn't know why, but he was sure it wasn't warranted. “Look, you're trying to keep us safe, right? I get it. Whatever we have to do, I'm behind you all the way.”

Papyrus nodded, though he didn't look convinced. “The rain kings are twins,” he said, darting nervous glances at Sans to gauge his reactions. “And because they're twins…Well...” He faltered, hugging himself. 

“Bro.”

“They're spouses, as well,” Papyrus said, rushing the words to have them done with as fast as possible. “Share a womb, share a life. That’s what they think. So if we're going to make them believe you're the other rain king, we have to…act like it.”

“...Huh.” Well, that was a curve ball. What the hell kind of island were they running here? Sans frowned, regretting it when Papyrus took it the wrong way, his face sinking further. “Hey, hey,” he said, moving to comfort his brother.

Papyrus shied away. “I'm sorry you're stuck here.” 

“This isn't your fault. We’ll figure something out.”

Papyrus wilted. “I don’t know…”

“We will. It’ll be fine,” Sans said, willing optimism into his voice. He sounded ridiculous to himself, like he was trying to buck up Papyrus after another year of being passed over for the Royal Guard. They should be so lucky to have a crisis that small. “In the meantime, we’ll go along with the gag, right? No big deal.”

“Really? You’re not bothered?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, bro.” Sans shrugged. This was nothing to get worked up about, right? It was kind of funny, if a guy thought about it the right way. Yeah. What a crazy twist of happenstance, that they had to embarrass themselves like this. Ha ha. “It’ll be good for a laugh. And we gotta do what we gotta do, right? I ain’t in the mood to get chucked into a volcano, are you? Heh.”

Papyrus didn’t laugh. But then, he’d always been the serious one.


	3. it's a beach episode!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my attempt to flesh out the lead-up to the next chapter turned into a whole dang chapter! Consider this a bit of filler-- the classic beach episode...?

The air outside the heavy stone walls of the temple-thing Papyrus lived in was humid and fragrant with blooming flowers. After spending the last few days holed up inside, Papyrus figured it was time to get some fresh air before everyone started to worry. And sure enough, everywhere they went, Papyrus got all but mobbed by humans and monsters alike. Only when they were satisfied that Papyrus was well and happy, it seemed, did any of their attention turn to Sans. That was completely fine. Sans had never much liked being the center of attention. Particularly when he already felt so self-conscious of Papyrus’ hand clasped in his as they walked. He bore the occasional shy poke from a monster and shrugged at what he assumed were questions from the humans. He was listening for any patterns he could latch onto, but learning their language would take more than a day, and he’d probably need a lot of help from Papyrus.

In the meantime, it was nice to see that the people on this island really did seem to love his brother. And not just in the whole being-worshiped-as-a-god way; there was real warmth in how they spoke to him, and he’d gotten more hugs in just the span of their walk from the temple to the beach than Sans would have thought possible, from everyone from kids to little old grannies. And, naturally, Papyrus was just as warm to all of them, too. Though he only hugged them back with his free hand, seeming unwilling to let Sans’ go. Well, if they needed to sell the Old Married Couple shtick, they had to do it right, after all.

Sans figured it was only right that everyone should feel the same way about Papyrus that he did— that he was amazing and kind and wonderful, and that going a few days without seeing him was a big deal. Still, it did his soul good to see the kind of affection Papyrus had gotten in his absence. 

The beach they ended up at was a different one than Sans had washed up on. This one fronted a little cove kinda thing, where humans were wading out waist-deep into the water, stretching fishing nets out between them. Farther out, Sans could make out fins flashing at the surface of the water. Fish monsters, and they seemed to be helping the humans by shooing fish up towards the nets. 

Everyone got along so well here, so naturally. After the Barrier came down, the humans Sans had dealt with had mostly been tolerant enough, if uncomfortable with the presence of monsters. But here…these people had never been separated. For a moment, Sans wished Toriel were here. Maybe she’d be able to relate to these people, as old as she was, and explain to him what he was looking at. This had to be some kind of pre-Barrier society that had gotten isolated from everywhere else, but beyond that Sans was flying blind.

“What a nice day,” Papyrus said, gently tugging on Sans’ hand, leading him to a spot in the shade where a few industrious monsters had made a place for them to sit down. 

“Yeah,” Sans couldn’t help but agree. The day was one frozen margarita away from being absolutely perfect, and he didn’t figure tequila was a thing here. He’d settle for the sun, and the sound of the surf coming up the beach. And Papyrus next to him looking completely content, the breeze rustling his clothing, beads clicking against each other like little wind-chimes. 

Alright. That was probably enough staring in any kind of Papyrus-related direction for a while. Sans redirected his attention out to the water. It was kind of fun to watch the humans and fish monsters at work, and they seemed to be enjoying themselves, too, like it was a game to see which human-monster pair could catch the most fish.

One of the human’s kids was playing on the rocks lining the cove, poking at the water with a stick like it was one of their parent’s fishing spears. It happened fast— if Sans hadn’t happened to have been looking that way, he’d have never noticed the kid slip on a rock and go under. They didn’t even yell, and barely made a splash.

“Bro?”

“Yes, Sans?”

“Humans, they don’t breathe so good underwater, right?” Sans was already standing up, readying a blue attack that he hoped would reach far enough.

Papyrus leapt up. “They don’t breathe at all underwater! What’s happened?”

Sans didn’t answer, too focused on the water. Where was the kid? Shouldn’t they have come up by now? Didn’t humans float, or something? 

There! A tiny hand appeared above the water’s surface, a slow fluttering of little fingers, easy to miss in the chaos of the fishing teams. Sans threw the blue attack out across the water. It skittered over the surface like a skipping stone. Just at the end of its range, it impacted with the kid’s hand. Instantly, the hand vanished under the water again, pulled down by the weight of the attack, but that was fine. Sans had them now. He pulled back on the attack, and the kid broke the surface like a breaching marlin, coughing up a truly impressive amount of seawater. They continued to sputter and retch as Sans reeled them back onto the shore. 

“There you go, kiddo,” Sans said, even though the kid wouldn’t understand what he was saying. “Better out than in, huh?” He gave the kid’s back a good few thumps with his hand to help knock the water out.

Papyrus skidded to a halt beside them on the wet sand, dropping to his knees and taking the kid’s face in his hands. “My goodness! Sans, they could have drowned!” He looked the kid over carefully, tutting something comforting when the little guy recovered enough to start crying. 

Brushing aside a tuft of hair, Papyrus revealed a gash on the side of the kid’s head. They must have knocked it against a rock on the way down and scrambled their eggs too bad to be able to swim. Papyrus and Sans both hissed in sympathy. Skulls were actually pretty fragile in that spot; it was lucky the kid hadn’t cracked their head wide open. Continuing the stroke the kid’s head, Papyrus applied some healing magic through his hand. Sans watched as the gash knitted back together.

That was…pretty impressive. When had Papyrus learned how to do that? The only monster Sans knew who was that adept at healing was Toriel.

By now, the fishing teams had abandoned the water and were encircling the trio on the beach, drawn by the ruckus Sans had caused pulling the kid from the water. One of the humans outpaced the rest, tripping over the sand as she cast aside her net and spear. After scooping the kid up for a tight hug, she set them down again. Sans couldn’t understand what she was saying, but from the tone of her voice and the look on her face the poor kid was getting the scolding of a lifetime. She must have been the kid’s mom. Whether on a goat monster or a human, Sans could tell an angry mom face. 

Sans leaned over near Papyrus. “Is little dude in trouble?”

“Oh, yes,” Papyrus said, nodding sagely. “Big time. Evidently, they’ve been warned about the rocks before. She says they’re a scoundrel and they’re lucky their head’s as hard as it is.”

“Ouch.”

When the adult human finally ran out of steam and the kid was able to get a word in edgewise, they whispered something in a high voice, pointing at Sans. Sans couldn’t help a pang of nervousness. He’d been on the surface for over five years, and using magic on a human was almost never a cool thing to do. But there hadn’t been time for anything else. Humans needed to breathe, didn’t they?

The kid’s mom turned to Sans. Sans was bracing himself for his own dose of scolding for using magic on her kid. Instead she fell to her knees, pressing her forehead down on the sand near his feet. Whatever she was saying didn’t sound angry, at least, but…damn. Awkward.

Sans shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Uh, you’re welcome?” The human didn’t look like she was about to get up any time soon. The rest of the fishing group was staring at him, too. This was way too many eyes on him. “Anyways,” he said, feeling more uncomfortable by the second, “nothing to, uh… _sea_ here, so…”

Thankfully, Papyrus came to his rescue. Kneeling down next to the human, he murmured something to her, then gently took her by the arm and helped her stand. Her eyes were streaked with tears, which he dried with his hands, saying something else that made her laugh a bit. Sans wished he knew what his brother was saying. His voice sounded nice, soothing and lyrical. Sans just didn’t know the new lyrics yet.

They spoke for a little bit longer, then, with a last grateful look at Sans, the human took her kid by the hand and led them away. The rest of the fishing group took that as their hint to disperse, returning to the water to continue their work. 

“Well,” Sans said, “that was sure-”

Papyrus swept him up into a hug, twirling about on the sand. “Oh, Sans, you were marvelous!”

“You think so?” Sans said, holding onto Papyrus only because it was actually super disorienting being spun around so fast. 

“Of course! Why, that could have ended horribly,” Papyrus said as he stumbled to a stop and set Sans down. He didn’t let go, though. “And one funeral today is quite enough. How on earth did you spot them so far off the shore?”

Sans shrugged, hoping his blush didn’t show too much. All this praise was pretty nice, if he was honest. “Just a lucky catch, I guess.”

“Well, it was still simply-” Papyrus’ eye sockets narrowed suspiciously. “Wait. Was that a pun just now?”

“Eh?” Sans replayed his last statement in his head. Lucky _catch_? Fishing, catch…was that anything? That one hadn’t been intentional, but that had never stood in his way before. Leaning back against Papyrus’ arms to better aim a grin up at him, Sans said, “What do you mean, bro? You _otter_ be more _Pacific_ than that.”

“Ugh!” Papyrus shoved him away in mock disgust. “Don’t tell me you’re still inflicting your atrocious japery on innocent people!”

Okay, so the puns had backfired just a little, because now Papyrus wasn’t holding him anymore, which was a bummer because Sans was still kinda wobbly from being twirled around like that and not because he’d felt safe and warmed from the inside out. But! Annoyed Papyrus was one of the most entertaining Papyruses around. Papyri? Either way, Sans was back on familiar ground, the last of that pesky awkwardness falling away like sand shaken from a beach towel. “Aw, c’mon, Papyrus,” he said, chuckling and nudging Papyrus in the ribs with his elbow. “ _Seal_ iously, I don’t know what pun you’re talking about. Can’t you just let _minnow_?”

Papyrus rolled his eyes, beads clacking as he crossed his arms in a huff. “Oh, stop it,” he said, “You’re _krill_ ing me.”

If Sans’ smile grew any wider, he was sure the top of his skull would fall off. “No need to get _crabby_ , bro. I know you could _school_ me in puns if you tried.”

“Now you’re just _coast_ ing,” Papyrus fired back, a smile tugging on the edge of his mouth. Sighing softly, he glanced up at the sun, shielding his eye sockets with his hand. “I suppose we should start heading back. It’s getting late, and we still need to prepare for the funeral dinner.”

Ah, right. That. Sans’ laughter wound down. “Gotta go earn our keep, huh?” What a drag, and they’d been having such a good day, too. He took Papyrus’ offered hand, and they headed for the path back into the city.

“It’s not that bad, Sans.” Papyrus gave his hand a squeeze.

Sans supposed he had to agree with that.


	4. We're one poke bowl away from a luau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting to the bits where I need to start adding tags, ha ha.
> 
> (Fellow Ursula V./ T. Kingfisher fans, spot the reference!)

Sans squirmed under heavy layers of jewelry and paint. Dressing for this occasion had been bad enough. The stupid kilt-thing guys wore here was not giving him the coverage he preferred, and the metric ton of beads and metalwork and feathers the priests had spent an hour piling on him weren't helping in the modesty department. Some of the humans sported ponchos that looked comfy, but when Sans asked about getting one he was informed that ponchos were below his station. 

What the hell? He was a god, wasn’t he? He should be able to wear whatever he wanted. Especially something that didn’t put everything he had (which wasn’t much, admittedly) on display. 

But no, his outfit paled in comparison to the night's real problem. 

Sans didn't mingle much with humans as a general rule, but he was sure that human funerals didn't go like this.

“Oh, damn,” Papyrus hissed, under his breath. “I felt like I was forgetting to tell you something important.”

“You think?!” Sans fought to keep his voice hushed. “I am not putting that in my mouth. No way.”

A few nearby humans stopped eating to surreptitiously watch the exchange. Thankfully, Papyrus had been bright enough over the years to learn their language without sharing a single word of his own. They could argue without fear of being overheard as long as the tone of their voices didn't betray them.

Papyrus clasped his hands nervously, bangles clinking. “Oh, please don't make a scene, brother. This woman was very important in the community, and it will cause such a commotion if you refuse.” He gestured around at the humans seated at the long table for the (shockingly literal) funeral feast. “They'll think that you think she was a bad person. It will ruin her whole afterlife, and the family will be so upset.”

Sans pointed to the lump of meat sitting in front of them, struggling to keep his voice sounding calm. “Bro! You cannot be asking me to eat a human!”

“It's cooked…?” Papyrus offered, as if that mattered.

“It's cannibalism!” Seriously, did Sans have to explain the concept?

Papyrus shrugged at that, cocking his head to one side in puzzlement. “We're not human. And besides,” he said, “it's only one bite.”

Sans was going to have a stroke. “That. Is not. The point!” The misgivings he'd had at the sight of that altar back when he’d first arrived were creeping back full force. “I can’t eat that thing.”

His brother straightened, stricken. “Well, you have to,” Papyrus said, shaking the hurt expression from his face and leaning in again to speak softer. More guests were staring now. “Please? It's really not as bad as you think, and it would mean so much to them.”

Which was worse, the fact that Papyrus was pushing him to eat human, or the fact that Sans was actually considering it? He looked around at the other mourners, humans and monsters alike. A certain anxious tension was rising, with the pair of them at the epicenter. Whispers were starting. 

How bad would it actually be if he refused? His gaze returned to Papyrus’ beseeching face. Did he want to find out?

“Oh! Here's an idea.” Papyrus reached out to tear a small strip of meat off the…was it a liver? “You could pretend to swallow it, and then just pass it to me, whereupon I shall destroy the evidence! Everyone's happy.”

Sans frowned, studying the bite of meat Papyrus held in his fingers. Red juices ran down his knuckles. 

This plan still required him to put the piece of liver in his mouth, which was not ideal, but there was another snag. “How am I supposed to give it back? It's not like I can hide it in a napkin.” Other than the wooden chargers the lumps of former human were being passed around on, there was nothing on the table. Even the wine was being shared in big jugs, so he couldn’t spit the meat out into a cup.

“Well,” Papyrus said, glancing away bashfully, “Um, it would be quite easily accomplished if you were to kiss me…?”

“What.” Yep. A major stroke was on its way, any second now. Sans' lack of brain and circulatory system wouldn't even slow it down. He’d have the world’s first brainless, bloodless stroke. He’d make medical history and then die. 

Papyrus squirmed, fidgeting with a strand of beads with his free hand. “We’re both adults. Surely I don't have to explain the logistics of the maneuver, do I?”

Hell, maybe he should just eat the damn liver and have it over with. 

Sans was pulled from weighing his options when Papyrus leaned forward to hold the bit of meat to his teeth. 

“It will only take a few seconds, Sans,” Papyrus coaxed, forcing a smile. “Honestly. Here comes the airplane?” 

“Poor choice of words, br-” Sans nearly choked as Papyrus quickly pushed the bit of liver into his mouth. Quietly horrified, he sat stock still, his tongue manifesting on reflex.

Human meat tasted like pit barbeque. That was so wrong.

After a few seconds, Papyrus nudged him gently on the arm. “Brother? I think that's long enough.”

Sans was too busy trying not to gag to respond. What was he was supposed to be doing, again?

With a weary sigh, Papyrus leaned in to press their mouths together. His hand cupped Sans' cheek, conveniently shielding their joined mouths from view.

Ah, so this was what a stroke felt like. 

Sans locked up, eye sockets widening. Even though he had no good reason to be surprised, since Papyrus had literally just said what they were going to do, he hadn't realized it would actually happen.

Papyrus sighed against Sans' mouth, though it was more of an irritated huff than anything. Why was that? Sans crossed his eyes, trying vainly to focus on Papyrus' face to figure out what had him so annoyed.

Soft warmth pushed insistently at his teeth, Papyrus’ tongue. Sans squeaked in renewed surprise and was taken by a coughing fit.

Papyrus pulled back, frowning in concern. “Are you alright, brother?”

“N-no…” Jesus tapdancing Christ, he'd eaten the liver chunk by mistake.

“You swallowed it, didn't you?” Papyrus rolled his eyes. “Well, there goes that idea.”

Sans gripped the edge of the table, teeth clenched. “I'm gonna spew.” 

Papyrus paused to exchange a few words with the woman at his other side, laughing and smoothing things over. Sans could only guess at what they were saying. When he was finished, Papyrus turned back to him. “You will do no such thing,” he scolded, keeping the tone of his voice light and cheerful. “It's already done, and it's not going to kill you. Do not ruin this.”

Sans had just eaten a human liver (a small part of one, anyway), and here Papyrus was tutting at him like he was about to use the wrong fork for his salad. He was going to focus very hard on the injustice of that, and not think at all about the fact that he'd eaten a human. Or about the sensation that was absolutely not nausea that had fluttered through his stomach (among other, more southerly locations) when Papyrus kissed him.

Nope. Not thinking about it. Better to go back to mulling over the sorta-kinda-maybe-actually cannibalism.

He was also not thinking about the fact that he'd just sat there doing nothing like some loser at his first middle-school dance. That had been pathetic. It was just Papyrus, for god's sake, and it wasn't like it was a real kiss. Why couldn't he keep it together?

Damn it, he was thinking about it. About all of it, from the too-long hug this morning to their hand-in-hand walk to that disaster of a kiss, to the fact that he couldn’t stop staring at Papyrus every time the sun caught him just right or his clothing shifted over his limbs in a certain way or…

The liver continued its journey down the table, and Sans grabbed for one of the jugs of wine to wash the taste out of his mouth and settle his stomach, though logically he knew there was nothing there anymore to upset it, or even a stomach to be upset. It was the principle of the thing.

He listened to the babble of voices around them, lucky to understand one word out of twenty. Papyrus was, as far as Sans could follow, being appropriately comforting and charming. He made for a very approachable god, but Sans doubted Papyrus could be cold even if he tried. It was just the kind of monster he was. 

Absently, Sans watched beaded jewelry sway as Papyrus nodded along with whatever his neighbor was saying. The white column of his neck flashed between beads and back-swept feathers. Was he pissed that Sans had been so difficult about the whole ritual cannibalism thing? Or that he'd had to kiss his own brother, and then said brother had drawn it out by being too dumb to open his damn mouth, and then made the whole ordeal pointless by swallowing the stupid thing anyway? 

If he was, he didn't show it. He'd gotten to be a pretty good actor in the last five years. 

Sans caught himself holding the lip of the jug against his teeth, the act of drinking forgotten while he mulled over the last fifteen minutes. The clay was cold against his mouth, unlike Papyrus’ mouth had been.

Stop. Stop thinking about it. Stop staring.

God damn it.

Sans hung on to the wine jug when it was finally time to leave the table. He needed it more than the others did. 

Papyrus aimed a doubtful look at him as they mingled with the crowd. “Are you sure you haven’t had enough already?”

“No,” Sans groused, taking another swig. “This is my emotional support wine.”

“Well, don’t start wine-ing tomorrow morning when you have a headache,” Papyrus said archly. 

Sans grinned despite how weirded out he still was. If Papyrus wasn’t too mad to pun, then he wasn’t that mad. That was good.

The rest of the evening passed in a steadily blurrier haze. The wine was pretty strong, and within an hour Sans was feeling nicely toasted and a lot more relaxed. He smiled and nodded blankly at anyone who came up to talk to him, which seemed to be working out. No one looked confused or disappointed, at least. The fires lighting up the area kept the night breeze from feeling too chilly. Not that he was all that bothered by the cold, but it was comfier to be warm. 

The firelight cast Papyrus’ face in soft shadows, totally different to the glow of the sun but just as nice. Drunk just past the point of basic common sense, Sans let himself look as much as he wanted, which meant he pretty much ignored everything else. He hoped, in the corner of his mind that wasn’t floating in a warm bath of alcohol, that he wasn’t creeping Papyrus out. If they were supposed to be a married couple reunited after years apart, then staring up at him in dopey admiration was just…staying in character. 

Late into the night, the funeral finally wound down and the mourners had all either gone home or dozed off where they sat. The wine jug was empty and Sans was pretty well blacked-out. Half-asleep, he was dimly aware of Papyrus carrying him as they headed back to their temple. The scent of woodsmoke and incense clung to Papyrus’ clothes and the feathers of his ornaments tickled Sans’ face with every step. Papyrus was talking the whole way, presumably about how the night had gone, but either Sans was just that drunk or Papyrus had forgotten to switch languages, because Sans couldn’t catch any of the actual words being said. Only a gentle voice, lulling him to sleep.

Sans woke up from a very pleasant dream that he couldn't quite remember to an absolute bitch of a headache. Just as Papyrus had warned, he had a hangover. Hopefully there’d be more wine at breakfast. A little hair of the dog, and he’d be good enough to lay around feeling sorry for himself all day. The hangover wasn’t his main concern, as rough as it was. 

He could guess at his dream's general content from the pressure in his shorts, but any thought of taking care of the issue was set aside when he realized he wasn't alone.

The same scent of incense from last night filled Sans’ nasal cavity as Papyrus shifted to get more comfortable against his back, one long leg draped over his hip, long arms looped around his ribcage. He was snoring a little, dead to the world.

What the fuck? Thank heaven for small mercies, though-- at least Sans was the little spoon, or this would be really awkward. ...Because no way was this awkward in the least. Totally normal surprise cuddling from someone who shouldn't even have been in the room. 

Hey, bro. Why no, that isn't a ceremonial dagger in my pocket. Also, what are you doing in my bed?

Weird boner aside, sleeping next to Papyrus wouldn't have been so bad. It was actually nice and snuggly. It felt...safe. Sans could just ignore his little problem (well, not little, maybe, but…!) and go back to sleep.

Papyrus shifted, nuzzling into Sans' shoulder. A wordless murmur vibrated against Sans' bones, sending a shiver down his spine that grounded itself at the base of his cock.

Sans scrambled away as though burned. Startled, Papyrus jumped back, and tumbled off the bed to land in a graceless heap on the floor. Concern just barely winning out over mortification, Sans gingerly scooted closer to look over the edge of the bed, squinting to see Papyrus in the gloom. 

“You okay? What, um...” Sans faltered for a moment, aware that he probably looked a little too scandalized. “What are you doing?” Carefully, so as not to arouse (ha, oh god) suspicion, Sans gathered more of the blankets over his lap.

If Sans was embarrassed, Papyrus looked ready to jump out the window. Gaze darting everywhere but at Sans, he tried to gather himself. “It's not what… Naturally, I wasn't…” He coughed. “I...had a bad dream,” he said, staring at the far wall. His cheeks were bright with wounded machismo, super obvious in the dark. He’d been just as reluctant to admit to nightmares when they were younger. Some things didn’t change, at least. 

Sans fidgeted with the edge of a blanket, torn between wanting Papyrus to leave him to his shame and genuine concern. “Yeah? What's up?”

“I don't know, it's going to sound foolish,” Papyrus said, standing and smoothing down his badly wrinkled kilt. “It's just… Since I got here, sometimes it's hard to tell what's real and what's not. I'll wake up and be so sure that you're not really here, or that I never had a brother at all and I just made you up because...” he paused, staring hard at the floor, “because I'm...lonely.” 

Fuck. 

Well, on the bright side, the boner was gone. Silver linings, or whatever.

Sans frowned. “Yeah,” he said, reaching out to take Papyrus’ hand and guide him to sit back down on the bed. “Yeah, I know what you mean. The time went by pretty slow, didn’t it?”

Papyrus played with a string of his beads, which were all tangled up from being slept in. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Oh, yes, you have no idea! These people are very nice in their own way, but it’s terribly isolating, the way they act around me.” He looked up from his hands, giving Sans a sad smile. “I’m glad you at least had our friends around you. That must have been some comfort.”

“Heh.” Now it was Sans’ turn to look away. “It’s funny, without you there to do most of the socializing for me I sort of left everyone hanging.”

“Oh, Sans,” Papyrus said, some of the old exasperation coming through in his voice. Even that was good. Sans would rather he was annoyed than sad. 

It was a little late to be scolded for ghosting on all their friends, but Sans had the grace to look sheepish, anyway. “Toriel kept trying the longest, but once I lost my phone that was about it. Sorry, bro.” And sorry, Toriel. He really hadn’t been any kind of friend worth keeping, anyway. “I was just so busy, I didn’t really have time to keep in touch with anyone.”

“Oh, now that I can’t believe!” Papyrus crossed his arms. “You, too busy? Doing what, exactly?”

“Well, I had to learn how to fly an airplane,” Sans said, “which, y’know, is a little tougher than driving, and then I had to save up for a plane, and then I had to-”

Papyrus stopped him with a hand on his mouth. “That’s alright, Sans,” he said, shoulders drooping. “I understand.”

“It was more important, bro.” Sans grasped Papyrus’ hand, lowering it from his mouth, though it had felt good to have it resting there. All the more reason to get rid of it. “I had to do something, or I’d have just loafed around the house forever.”

That wasn’t exactly true, but Papyrus didn’t need to know about his Plan B. The conversation was already depressing enough. Plan B wasn’t relevant anymore, anyway. Now that he’d found him, Sans was never going to leave Papyrus’ side again.

“In any case,” Sans went on, forcing himself out of his funk, “I’m right here now, so there’s no reason for either of us to mope about what’s already happened, right?” Sans had a lot more moping left in him, that was for sure. He’d not yet begun to mope. But Papyrus wasn’t built for that kind of life, and he’d been sad and lonely for too long already. “So you gotta cheer up, bro.”

Papyrus gave a tentative nod. “Yes, I suppose I’m being silly, aren’t I?” 

With the immediate emotional crisis taken care of, another thought sprang to mind. “Say,” Sans said, blinking. “I don't’ know why I never thought about it before, but where’ve you been sleeping this whole time?” The temple was big compared to most of the houses in the city, but it wasn’t all that big. There weren’t that many separate rooms, and he certainly hadn’t seen any other beds around. 

Papyrus waved him off dismissively. “Oh, I have more important things to do than lounge around all day and night, Sans!” 

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Oh, fine,” Papyrus said, frowning. “I’ve been sleeping in one of the chairs in the main room. It’s not that critical, Sans, so wipe that sour look off your face.”

If anything, the look on Sans’ face only got more sour. He could feel it doing so. A skull-shaped lemon. “You can’t tell me you’re getting any kind of real sleep like that, bro.”

“I can assure you that I’m in perfect health!” Papyrus drew himself up straight, back popping treacherously as he did so.

It felt weird to be the one doing the nagging for a change, but Sans persevered. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Look,” he said, gesturing at the stars still visible through the window. “It’s still a few hours until sunrise, so you’re gonna stay here and get some real sleep until then, got it?”

“Sans, I am trying to be a gracious host,” Papyrus snapped. 

Sans shook his head. “You can’t be a host because I’m not a guest, or did you think I just crashed my plane here for a quick visit?”

Now that Sans was looking for it, there were faint shadows under Papyrus’ eye sockets. Of course there were— how much sleep could anyone really get cramped up in a chair? He’d have been better off just laying on the stone floor, though Sans’ bones ached at the thought.

While Papyrus sputtered a few more pointless protests, Sans rearranged the pillows to make a sort of no-man’s land in the center of the bed. He didn’t want to risk a repeat of his last waking. 

“There,” he said once he was finished. “Plenty of room for both of us.” He grinned at Papyrus from his side of the pillow fence, feeling very far away all of a sudden. It had to be done, though. If he woke up as the big spoon in the same condition as last time his soul would leave his body and he’d turn to dust out of sheer mortification. Death by badly-timed erection. 

Papyrus gave the nearest pillow a questioning poke with one finger, and nodded. “I suppose this is acceptable, if you’re sure you have enough space.”

“Sure, bro. It’s not like I take up that much room, right? Heh.” Sans laid back down, rolling over to face the wall. “You gotta promise you’ll quit fussing and get some sleep.”

Behind him, he heard Papyrus sigh, and felt the bed shift as he settled down on his side of the blockade. “Very well. If it will put your mind at ease, I suppose a brief nap won’t hurt.”

“Good,” Sans said, and waited to fall back asleep. He wasn’t nearly as snuggly now, and it was harder to ignore his headache, but it was for the best. 

Listening to Papyrus’ breathing as he drifted off again was almost as good.


	5. It was supposed to be a three hour tour...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The island, as it turns out, isn't quite the Gilligan's Island paradise (with occasional funerary cannibalism) that it at first appeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The paragraphs are pretty fucked on this one. My formatting got screwed up and it's too late and I'm too tired to deal with it properly. My bad!

"This shrine has way too many damn steps," Sans puffed, looking out across the expanse of the city around them, reduced to treetops and roofs. They weren't even at the top yet. "We should build a ski lift, or something."

Papyrus showed him no sympathy. "Exercise is good for you, Sans." He wasn't even winded, the show-off. "I do this three times a week, you know. You have to start attending to your duties some time."

  
Sans had no idea what they'd be doing up here, other than chilling on cushions like Papyrus had been back on that first day. "Yeah, sure," he groused. "Why can't our duties be on the ground?"

  
"They think we're more powerful when we're closer to our native element," Papyrus said, unconcerned that Sans was literally steps away from collapsing. Was it even possible for legs to be this sore?  
"I'm gonna fall down every one of these steps, and they'll have to reassemble me from the bone pile that hits the bottom." Or they could just skip the reassembly, save Sans a lot of trouble.

"Don't be so dramatic." 

Sans chuckled, distracting himself from how goddamn tired he was. They were only three-quarters of the way to the top. "Could be nice, actually," he said, wheezing. "They can carry my skull around on a little pillow. No more walking, ever."

  
No more...walking... Sans stopped dead in his tracks and slapped his forehead.

"What?" Papyrus paused as well. "Don't tell me you've forgotten something at the bottom of the steps."

  
He'd forgotten something, alright. "I'm such a doofus," Sans said. He grabbed Papyrus' hand and short-cut them to the top of the steps. The priests waiting for them at the shrine were audibly impressed with this bit of wizardry. Papyrus, not so much.

  
"Honestly, could you be any lazier?" He squeezed Sans' hand, taking the edge off his chiding. "You're not going to get any healthier if you never exercise."

  
Sans smirked, comfortable in the knowledge that he'd never have to climb those stupid steps again. "As soon as I figure out how to grow some muscles, and a set of lungs, and some veins and whatever, I'll exercise them every day." He knew Papyrus was making a bemused face without even looking. This was only his second time up here, and now he had all the time in the world to take a closer look at some things he'd been rushed past before. Sans took the opportunity to do just that.

The big slab in front of the shrine itself grabbed his attention and held it. It was one huge, flat stone, weathered smooth by exposure to the elements over what must have been hundreds of years, or more. There was something unwholesome about it. Sans couldn't put a finger on what it was, but it made him uncomfortable. Beneath the slab, on the floor, a pair of gutters he'd glimpsed on his first visit started, and continued all the way down, on either side of the steps. Were they there to keep rain from making the steps slippery? Sans couldn't think why else they'd be there. There were no hand-rails, so any safety feature was better than none, he supposed.

The interior of the shrine was as stuffy and dim as he remembered. "If they want us to be closer to the air," Sans said, kneeling down on the cushion next to Papyrus, "they could let some air in here."

  
"I know, it's quite warm, isn't it?" Papyrus crossed his legs and straightened his back, settling in for the long haul. "Hopefully there's a lot of petitioners today. At least then the curtains will be opened often to let in a breeze."

  
After exerting himself climbing the majority of the shrine's steps, sitting in a warm room was making Sans more drowsy than normal. He endeavored to keep himself awake, listening to each petitioner that climbed up to talk to them and doing his best to pick out the words he knew, comparing them against the ones he didn't to figure out their meaning. It was the only thing he had to alleviate the boredom of hours of sitting, aside from Papyrus leaning over now and then to chat, under the pretense of consulting him on a difficult question from whatever human or monster was taking up their time at the moment. Most of them, from what Sans was able to gather on his own, weren't asking for things so much as they were getting things off their chests. 

Someone missed her mother who'd recently passed away, and wanted Papyrus to pass on a message. Another was having trouble sleeping because they were worried about something they couldn't define. A monster was concerned that her wife didn't seem happy anymore. All in all, Papyrus seemed to be as much a therapist as a god. Then again, Sans supposed a lot of prayer was just unloading problems onto something else that seemed strong enough to carry it all. Papyrus was warm and compassionate to all of them, of course. 

Sans wondered if Papyrus was copping as much of a high off the incense burning in the room as he was. That might have explained a little of the warmth. Sans himself was feeling more at peace with the universe the longer he stayed here, and more than once caught himself leaning against Papyrus, too relaxed to hold himself upright. 

"Sans, do try to pretend to look professional," Papyrus whispered, nudging him away for the fifth time in ten minutes. "They'll think you don't care about their problems."

  
"It's cool," Sans said, contented and drifting. "I don't."

  
Papyrus muttered something about Sans being a lightweight and returned his attention to his current petitioner. Sans let himself ooze over onto Papyrus' shoulder again. 

When they were at last done for the day, they stepped outside into the fresh night air. It was cool and crisp, and started to clear Sans' head within minutes. 

Well, mostly. He miscalculated his short-cut a bit, dropping himself and Papyrus to the ground at the foot of the shrine from a couple feet in the air. Unprepared, they both stumbled, giggling, Papyrus folding gracefully to his knees while Sans landed flat on his ass. Papyrus laughed all the harder at that. Sans decided he'd have to find ways to look like a clumsy idiot more often, just to hear him sound so happy. 

His legs were still sore from the morning's climb, and this time he managed to talk Papyrus into carrying him as they returned to the temple for dinner. Aside from the accidental exercise, Sans had to admit that it had been a pretty good day.

The third time Sans caught Papyrus worriedly glancing at the sky, he spoke up.

“What the hell do you keep looking at up there? UFOs?”

“It’s nothing,” Papyrus said, wringing his hands. “It’s just that it’s nearly monsoon season, and I thought I’d have come up with a plan by now, and I fear it’s already too late for that.” He glanced up at the overcast sky again, face taut with stress. “I suppose if I haven’t got out of it for five years, I’m never going to.”

One of these days Sans was going to be able to follow the plot around here. That day wasn’t today. “Get out of what?” Absently, he reached for Papyrus’ hand and squeezed it. They’d been playing up the wedded bliss act over the last couple months. It hardly felt weird at all anymore, and now and then they caught themselves staying in character when no humans were around to see it. Sans didn’t want to let go of Papyrus’ hand yet, though, so he didn’t.

The corner of Papyrus’ mouth twitched, his jaw clenching slightly. He squeezed Sans’ hand in return, and gently slipped away. “Well, I’m a rain king,” he said, staring forlornly up at the clouds. “A few weeks from now, I’ll be expected to start the rainy season.” 

Sans laughed. He couldn’t help it— the idea of Papyrus doing some crazy rain dance to trick the humans into thinking he was actually making it rain was hilarious. “And they fall for that? What’s the scam?” He wondered what kind of dancing it was. Break dancing? A little mambo? Did Papyrus bust out some hidden ballet skills?

“It’s not a scam,” Papyrus said, scowling. “It’s a ritual they take extremely seriously, and it’s a source of great anxiety for me, so I’d appreciate it if you’d stop chortling about it.”

“Right, right,” Sans said, dabbing at his eye sockets. Man, he’d needed that laugh! “Sorry, bro. What does this extremely solemn and important day entail, huh?”

Papyrus glanced up at the sky again, as though trying to will the clouds away. “It’s a sort of wedding ceremony,” he said, his voice taking on that odd cagey tone that signaled he was holding out. 

“Bro,” Sans warned, grin fading. “Come on, let’s not play Twenty Questions for every damn thing, huh?”

“Well, it’s difficult!” Papyrus stamped his foot with a jangle of cuffs and beads. Tension suffused every line of his body. “And it’s upsetting,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest protectively. “You’ll get upset.”

Sans shook his head. “I will not. When have I gotten upset?”

Glaring, Papyrus uncrossed his arms. “When I explained their perception of our relationship, and the incident during the funeral,” he said, ticking items off on his fingers, “and when the priests disposed of those old rags of yours-”

“That was my favorite jacket!” Catching himself, Sans put his hands up in surrender. Then he tried to stuff them into the pockets of a jacket that no longer existed and got kinda pissed off all over again. He’d really loved that jacket. It held a lot of sentimental value, and now that it was gone, so were the last traces of anything from the outside world aside from a few scattered airplane chunks that had washed up on the beach. “Okay. Point taken. It’s been weird and the reservoir of chill is running pretty low.” He tried for a chuckle. “I promise I won’t be upset. Okay?”

Papyrus gave him a dubious look. “Very well. I suppose it’s better you find out now than learn about it the way I did,” he said, continuing along the path. 

Sans kept pace with him, though keeping up with Papyrus when he was nervous made for a less than leisurely stroll. They walked in silence, Sans trusting that Papyrus would talk once he’d had a moment to collect his thoughts. He’d gotten so much more deliberate since he’d left on that doomed trip— sort of regal, even. Meanwhile, Sans had gone to pieces in his absence. Maybe that would mend, in time. He already felt better than he had in years, just being near his brother again. 

“As I said,” Papyrus said, with only a small unsteadiness coloring his voice, “it’s a wedding ceremony. Not literally, of course, but it’s meant to symbolize both rain kings setting aside their grievances from the preceding year and recommitting themselves to one another.”

“Er, cute, I guess.” Sans liked the rain dance idea better. “So, what, we gotta renew our vows, or something?”

“Something like that.” Absently, Papyrus plucked a frond from a fern as he passed it by, twisting it in his hands. “We’re meant to then, um, seal the deal, so to speak. With witnesses. A great many witnesses.”

Sans pulled a face. “What, like ‘you may now kiss the bride?’ I ain’t wearing a veil, bro, just gonna put my foot down now.”

Papyrus stopped short. “No,” he said, stopping Sans with a hand around his arm. “Not a kiss. And it isn’t funny.” He let go, pacing a few steps to lean heavily against a tree. The palm frond was twisted up into knots until it tore apart in his fingers. He wouldn’t meet Sans’ gaze. 

Well, how else was a wedding supposed to end if not with a kiss? What did ‘seal the deal’ mean, then? Unless…

Sans felt the bottom drop out of his figurative stomach.

“No,” he whispered. “No fucking way.”

Papyrus’ fingers curled against the bark of the tree as he let the ruined palm frond fall from his grasp. “Poor phrasing, Sans.”


	6. the one where it's kinda heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The "oof" chapter. It hasn't all been fun sunshine times for Papyrus on the island; check out the new tags on the work or skip to the AN at the end of this chapter for a more detailed warning regarding mention of noncon.

“I’m not…” Sans was gripped with the uncharacteristic urge to run, but there was nowhere to run to. “We are not doing that!” Even as he said the words, a treacherous, not-small-at-all corner of his mind shivered in anticipation. What would it be like to…? 

He’d stopped himself from completing that thought more times than he cared to admit. There was, maybe, no longer any practical point in stopping himself, but the habit was ingrained. 

“We have no choice in the matter,” Papyrus said, still fixing his gaze on the tree in front of him. “I’m sorry. I told you it was upsetting.”

“No choice, my ass!” Sans snapped. Acting like a couple and doing some light snuggling in public was one thing. Sans could play off any momentary slip as just playing his role. Hell, Papyrus had even complimented him on how much work he put into the act. But this? There was no way he’d be able to sell the idea that he was just putting on an act if it came down to sleeping with Papyrus. “Just tell them no!” 

Hand clenching into a fist, Papyrus whirled to face him. “Don’t you think I’ve tried that? If we refuse, they’ll assume they’ve made us angry. And that’s the best-case scenario!”

“So? I am angry!” Angry at the islanders, both human and monster, and their whole crazy-ass, stone age society. Angry at Papyrus for being fatalistic and accepting the one time he shouldn’t be. Angry at himself, most of all, because underneath his current train of thought were memories of every stolen glance and every too-lingering touch playing on a damning, continuous loop. 

“You don’t understand,” Papyrus said, tears springing to his eyes. “Us taking the rain away is the thing they’re most afraid of, Sans. They’ll do anything to make us change our minds.”

Sans snarled. “The fuck do I care what they’re scared of? They can stop acting like a bunch of backward-”

“People will die, Sans!”

“I don’t care!” 

Papyrus drew himself up straight as an arrow. “I’m not going to watch them hurt themselves just because you’re uncomfortable.”

The thought of having to have sex with Papyrus— in front of an audience, no less— was uncomfortable the same way getting chucked into the volcano was uncomfortable. Or, not exactly. God, he’d spent weeks trying not to think about this precise thing… “’Uncomfortable?’ Are you even listening to yourself?” 

“Are you? I knew you’d react this way! This is precisely why I hesitated to tell you.” 

“Maybe if you’d told me sooner,” Sans said, volume rising to match Papyrus, “I could have figured something out, since you don’t seem in any hurry to do anything about it!”

“And what would your amazing plan have entailed, hmm? Would you have built a new airplane out of coconuts and flown us back home? Told them the truth and let them chase us all over the island until we all kill each other? I’m very curious to know!”

Sans fumed. They hadn’t taken a swing at each other in years, but damn if he wasn’t tempted. “I guess we’ll never know, since you didn’t give me the chance to try!”

God, what could he think up in such a short amount of time? There had to be something Papyrus had overlooked, some way around this. All his treacherous brain would focus on was the image of him and Papyrus twined together.

Nope! Stop thinking about it! Not gonna happen! Sans turned away, hoping not seeing Papyrus would help get the image out of his head.

“There must be something…”

Papyrus threw up his hands. “What do you expect me to do?”

Why was Papyrus acting like Sans was the one being unreasonable? This was insane! How was he being so matter of fact about this? “Well, for one thing,” Sans said, “I expect you to side with me on this, not them!”

“There aren’t any sides!” Nervous energy bubbling over, Papyrus began pacing, his damned jewelry ringing with each step. “But if the rains fail-”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Sans was amazed he could even speak through the frantic lump in his throat. Was Papyrus losing it? “I think maybe you’ve been here too long. You don’t control the weather, bro.”

Papyrus stopped pacing, arms crossed tightly as if to keep from throwing a punch. “Oh, so I’m crazy as well as stupid, is that it?”

“I’m just saying-!”

But Papyrus turned on his heel and ran up the path. In seconds, he disappeared from view into the forest. Sans stood where he was, listening to the rhythmic jingle of bangles growing fainter. 

He felt sick. Physically, mentally, spiritually. He was a sick, sick person, and he felt sick in every conceivable way. 

“Stop thinking about it,” he growled to himself, low and shaky. He slammed one useless fist against the tree Papyrus had leaned on. His hand came away tingling and sore, but the pain did little to clear his mind. 

They weren’t actually going to go through with this crazy ritual, were they? But that’s what it looked like.

A dark corner of him wondered why he needed to kick up such a fuss about it, if no one else cared, and Sans squashed it down mercilessly. 

“This fucking place,” he said, scrubbing at unshed tears. “It has to take and ruin every goddamn thing…” 

There was no way Papyrus would want anything to do with him after that night, no matter how tough a front he was putting up now. Sans would lose his brother all over again, and get to feel like slime forever into the bargain, knowing he’d hurt him. 

A rustle by the pond caught Sans’ attention, and he turned to see a froggit at the edge of the water. It stared back at him with wide eyes. How long had it been there? Had it seen the whole argument? 

Did he really give a shit right now? Sans glared at the froggit. “What are you looking at?”

Understanding his tone if not his words, the froggit crouched low, repeating a fearful apology as it slunk back into the water. 

Returning his attention to the pathway, Sans sighed. Dammit. Should he follow Papyrus or give him some space? He knew what he’d rather do, but it seemed like the coward’s way out. 

Well, Sans had always been a quitter. 

He hadn’t even reached the outskirts of the city when he found himself coasting to a stop. His sandal dislodged a pebble from the path, and he watched as it bounced down the incline toward the road leading into town. Was he really going to walk all the way back to the temple? And then what— hide under the covers? They’d have to talk eventually. Waiting would likely as not make it harder, especially when they’d both had hours to stew.

Besides, the thought of Papyrus being so upset on his account didn’t sit right. No, Sans would have to try to find him. Part of him hoped he’d fail, but at least wandering the jungle all night would let him feel like he’d made an effort. Shaking his head at the unexpectedly awful turn his life had taken, Sans trudged back up the hill, following the path Papyrus had taken into the trees.

Far from wandering around all night, Sans stumbled on Papyrus after only an hour or so of walking. That was still an hour more than Sans generally liked to spend hiking through the wilderness. He paused in the undergrowth to catch his breath. 

Papyrus hadn’t noticed his presence yet. He sat curled up in the boughs of a gnarled old tree, staring down at the valley below. Cooking fires and torches glimmered up from the city like dim stars. 

Subtly, Papyrus hunched his shoulders. “What?”

Sans stepped out of the ferns into the open. No point hiding when he’d already been spotted. “I thought I’d see if you were alright.”

“I’m not. You can go now.”

“C’mon, Papyrus,” Sans sighed. “I’m sorry I blew up on you, alright? I wasn’t expecting…that.”

“There’s a lot of things I didn’t expect, either,” Papyrus said, “that I had to figure out on my own, without help or explanation. Do you think any of this has been easy for me?”

“No,” Sans said, guilt welling up in his chest. “It’s just…it’s a lot, okay? Every time I think I’m getting my feet under me something even crazier comes along and knocks me back down.”

Papyrus sighed. “Yes, I know.”

Silence descended. 

Sans generally liked quiet, but this wasn’t the good kind of quiet. “So, uh, do you wanna maybe,” he said, clumsy and too loud, “You wanna maybe go back home? Back to the temple, I mean,” he amended, though weren’t they one and the same thing? 

Home wasn’t a place anywhere on the surface, after all. The house they’d lived in had ceased to be home as soon as Papyrus had vanished, and their house in Snowdin may as well have existed in another lifetime entirely. It was here, or it was nowhere. Sans might have preferred the latter.

“I don’t know,” Papyrus said, shaking his head. “I’m not in the mood to be any closer to them than this at the moment.” He stared down at the distant fires. Weariness sat unnatural on his face. The Great Papyrus was never tired, or so Sans remembered being told on multiple occasions. 

He looked tired now.

“I thought you liked your little fan club? You’re about as popular as a guy can get.” It was hard, but Sans managed to keep the note of derision to a minimum this time. “They literally worship you.”

“And you, don’t forget,” Papyrus said. He sighed. “I won’t pretend I dislike the attention— mostly. But they really do ask too much sometimes.”

Sans frowned at the city below. “Yeah, no shit.”

They fell quiet again for several minutes. Sans listened to the breeze rustle through the leaves, turning the day’s unwelcome revelation over and over in his mind, a rat seeking the exit of a maze. While he fruitlessly schemed, something caught on the edge of his train of thought and stuck there, digging its hooks in.

“You said you do this every year?” Sans blinked up at Papyrus, who turned to gaze imperiously down at him. “But I wasn’t here.”

Papyrus smiled briefly. “And neither was I up until five years ago. Before that, the head priests went through the ritual themselves as our proxies. Stunt doubles, I guess you could say.” He laughed, more from nerves than amusement. 

“Then, once I ended up here,” he went on, “there was no need for my proxy anymore. She couldn’t very well channel me when I’m standing right there, yes?”

Sans said nothing, unwilling to give voice to the pieces he was putting together.

Papyrus turned his gaze back to the city. “That first time, I couldn’t really understand the language yet. I’d only been here a month or two. I had no idea what was going on.” 

The breeze picked up, ruffling their clothing and making their jewelry clink like wind chimes. Papyrus wrapped his arms around himself.

“They made offerings to me, only I didn’t know that’s what their aim was. It was just horrible violence without any warning, and nobody seemed to care. And the priest lifted me up onto that altar while it was still covered in…” His voice shook, and he took a moment to gather himself. 

Sans didn’t want to hear any more. “Bro, it’s alright, you don’t have to-”

“And then he climbed up there with me,” Papyrus went on over Sans’ objections. “And I was so confused and overwhelmed, I didn’t even try to get away. I just locked up.”

Sucking cool night air through his nasal cavity, Sans knelt on the ground, head bent low as he fought down nausea. “Who was it?” he asked, tasting hot bile in the back of his throat. “Which one?”

Above him, Papyrus laughed exactly once, a hollow, flat noise. “He’s already dead, Sans.”

Sans sat down heavily in the dirt, staring up into the tree. “What?” That made no sense. Why would these people punish the bastard who’d hurt his brother when they’d orchestrated the whole thing?

“As I said once before, they take monogamy extremely seriously,” Papyrus said, scrubbing the heel of his hand over his eye sockets. “I spent all the next day in bed, utterly inconsolable, as you might expect. It was more than even I could bear, I don’t mind saying.”

He was so calm in his recollection. Somehow that made the words all the more terrible. 

“They couldn’t ask me what was wrong, and I couldn’t tell them. As it happened, the rains failed that year.” He gestured at the overcast sky. “They came to the only logical conclusion they could. Somehow, the priest had performed the ritual incorrectly and failed to channel you. They thought I was upset at being tricked into an act of adultery, you see?”

Sans shook his head. It was too much horror for one day. “They got all that from the coincidence that it didn’t rain?”

“I was punishing them for the indignity they put me through, yes,” Papyrus said, nodding slightly. “That’s what they thought.”

“So they killed this priest, then?” Sans couldn’t say he was at all sad about that. The fucker had it coming.

“No,” Papyrus said, shaking his head emphatically. “They didn’t need to do anything. The priest was so horrified by his mistake that he made amends the only way he knew how. They found him in his home.”

Despite Papyrus’ obvious upset over the carnage, Sans couldn’t share his sentiments. “Good riddance, then.”

“It wasn’t his fault. He had no way of knowing that it wouldn’t work the way they all thought, and it isn’t as though I pushed him away.”

“Because you were too scared to move!”

“And it didn’t stop with him. There were volunteers, over a dozen of them, offering themselves to try to convince me to forgive them and let it rain.” Papyrus shook his head. “Of course, I can’t do that, so they all died for nothing. All because I couldn’t stop crying in front of them.”

“Papyrus,” Sans said, rising on shaking legs and moving to the base of the tree. “None of that was your fault.”

“It was, though. I couldn’t hold myself together, and they only know what they know, Sans. So the next year, with the next priest, I knew what was coming and I simply…got through it.” Papyrus looked down at him. “Do you understand now? Why I can’t stop this?”

Sans didn’t understand. Knowing that Papyrus had been stoically suffering through years of rape only made him more adamant about getting them both out of this insanity. Especially when it would be Sans himself violating him this time. God, he’d rather die than put Papyrus through that again.

There had to be a way. Honestly, Sans could care less if they all offed themselves if it spared Papyrus any more torment. 

…Except it wouldn’t spare Papyrus at all. He’d feel every wound as if it was himself, because that was who Papyrus was. He was a fundamentally better person than Sans was, and Sans had no idea how to protect him. It was entirely possible that he couldn’t. 

They sat for a while longer, Papyrus distant and unreachable in the tree and Sans stuck on the lowly earth below. The moon was beginning to set when Papyrus finally climbed down. He’d been crying— quiet enough to hide it, but the evidence showed on his cheeks. He wouldn’t meet Sans’ gaze or speak as they made their way back down the hill, though he allowed Sans to lead him by the hand. 

When they at last entered the city, a small crowd was waiting to greet them. Sans regarded the people cautiously while Papyrus surreptitiously wiped his face dry. Far from the usual deferential chatter and excitement, the group hung back slightly, as if afraid to approach their patron gods. 

Sans was about to ask Papyrus what the deal was when he spied a small, familiar shape at the edge of the crowd. The froggit from the pond met eyes with him for a guilty instant and moved to hide behind the nearest human. 

That rotten little snitch… 

An older woman— not one of the priests, but it was late and maybe there hadn’t been time to wake them up— stepped forward, knees quivering. She held out a cloth-wrapped bundle in her outstretched hands, stammering out something in a hoarse, reedy voice.

“She says they hope we’ll stop fighting,” Papyrus said, eying the bundle with weary resignation. To Sans, he said, “You should take that from her.” He smiled at the assembled humans and monsters then, the expression sliding smoothly into place with the ease of long practice. 

Sans forced a smile, too, though it was the second-to-last thing he felt like doing. The very last thing he felt like doing was taking the bundle from the old woman’s hands. Whatever was in the cloth was weighty and warm. And damp.

“Gee, you shouldn’t have,” he said, trying for a gracious tone. Did they get sarcasm on this island? He hoped not.

Papyrus thanked the crowd properly, and, Sans assumed, went on to assure them that Mom and Dad still loved them very much and they should go back to bed like good kids, or whatever. It took some coaxing to get everyone to disperse, but in a matter of minutes they were alone on the street. 

Neither of them relaxed or let their smiles slip. By now, Sans knew better to assume that they weren’t being watched from dark windows and alleyways. As they resumed their walk back to the temple, Sans wrestled with the urge to pass the bundle off to Papyrus to carry. He suspected he knew what was inside, and he didn’t want to be holding it. 

But that wasn’t really fair, was it? He’d been the one to start the fight, which was what had prompted this little…present. He should be the one to deal with it. 

“You see what I mean?” Papyrus said, once they’d put a few streets between themselves and their worried worshipers. 

Sans sighed. The bundle somehow grew heavier in his arms. “Yeah, bro. I think I get it.”

They didn’t unwrap the bundle. On their return to the temple, Sans set it at the end of the table in the hope that one of the priests might take it away in the morning. What did they do with hearts after the offering was over, anyway? He’d never asked. He decided to stick to fruit at breakfast, just to be safe. 

Papyrus offered to go back to sleeping in a chair. Though Sans shared his discomfort, he didn’t really see the point. Either they’d find a way out of the ritual or…they wouldn’t. No matter the outcome, sharing the bed now wouldn’t make any difference. It wasn’t worth wrecking Papyrus’ spine over.

That was what he argued, anyway. Lying in the dark, listening to Papyrus shifting restlessly on the other side of of their makeshift divider, having him so close by felt like a bad omen. 

And, in a corner of Sans’ mind that was now impossible to quiet, like a tease. 

It took well over an hour for Papyrus’ breathing to slow, signaling that he’d drifted off. Sans slipped out of bed, crawling all over with frustration and self-loathing. He crept from the room into the hall, looking around for someplace out of the way where he could sleep without a priest finding him and asking uncomfortable questions (and possibly gutting some poor idiot in an attempt to cheer him up).

Adjacent to the bedroom was a smaller chamber that still seemed to serve its original purpose as a storeroom. It was windowless, dark and cool. The scent of spices and beeswax cleared any lingering incense from his head. There was no furniture that he could find by feel, or anything soft to lie on. Feeling his way to an open space, Sans settled down on the stone floor. He’d be sore as hell by morning, but it was as much as he deserved. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-detailed discussion of past noncon against Papyrus in this chapter. I didn't feel it major enough to warrant an archive warning on the whole work (when I see that warning I'm expecting on-screen noncon to be a major focus of the story). That's not the case here, so I hope this is sufficient, but if you guys ever want any tags/warnings added to the work I'm happy to do it.
> 
> Also, we're over half-way there! Two-thirds? Something like that! Also coming to the end of what I had finished in 2016, so off into the uncharted waters of 3-year-old notes and zero drafts we go.


	7. Maryanne and the professor never had to deal with this shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost done! Originally, I wanted this fic finished before June, but I'm shooting for the end of June. Almost four years of sitting around as a pile of notes and half-written drafts, almost redeemed!

Two weeks passed, and Sans could feel the noose tightening. And all the while, he could think of nothing viable that Papyrus hadn’t already tried.

Wine had not made him more inspired, but it had made the trip from the main room to the bed (Papyrus had vetoed his sleeping on the floor a week ago) completely insurmountable. He refused to let Papyrus carry him, so his brother was instead keeping him company until he sobered up enough to walk on his own. In the course of the night, they’d both had more to drink than they really should have.

“Well,” Sans said, staring at the shadows the moon cast on the ceiling, “what if we say that we’re…I don’t know, shy? That we’ll totally take care of it, but no one’s allowed to look at us.”

Sprawled on the floor next to him, Papyrus heaved a sigh. “They’d assume we’re trying to avoid performing the ritual because you’re not my real husband. We’ve been over this, Sans.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fed to the sharks, or whatever.” Sans tapped his empty cup against the floor, the metallic ringing echoing through his skull. “What if we built a raft? We could lash some wood together with…reeds, or something?”

“Yes,” Papyrus said, irritation building with each lame pitch, “I’d much rather we both die at sea. Excellent solution.”

“You know, it’s easy to shoot down an idea.”

Papyrus had frustratingly good points about every single thing he came up with, though. They were seen as gods here, yes, but they were only safe so long as they played their roles. And he couldn’t really fault Papyrus for not wanting to challenge those roles when these people had been doing the same things since before the war between humans and monsters even started. 

Sans desperately didn’t want to ruin his relationship with his brother. But getting him killed after finally finding him again was worse. Was he really not smart enough to get them out of this mess? 

“I know it’s alarming,” Papyrus said, slurring a bit, “but we only have a week left.”

Struggling to a sitting position, Sans aimed an unfocused glare in Papyrus’ direction. His brother’s image doubled and wavered. “Exactly! So we need to get serious about this.”

Rolling onto his side, Papyrus wrapped his arms around himself and drew his knees up. “I agree. But I think maybe our time would be better spent figuring out how we’re going to handle the evening rather than fantasize about not having to perform the ritual.”

“What?” Sans shook his head, making the whole room wobble on its axis. “Come on, bro, you can’t just give up like that. That’s not like you at all.”

“You hardly know what I’m like anymore,” Papyrus said, with surprising bitterness. He stared glumly at the stone floor. “There’s a powder they burn with the incense. If you stay close enough to the brazier for about an hour you can black out most of the day. The headache isn’t any worse than what we’ll have tomorrow.”

“Papyrus…”

“There’s nothing else to do, Sans.” Uncurling, Papyrus got to his feet. He’d peeled off most of his jewelry over the course of their drinking, but what was left hung askew. “I’m going to bed. You should, too.” 

There was little point arguing about the sleeping arrangements, since Sans hadn’t managed to win yet. After much tripping and stumbling, they made it to their room at the rear of the temple. Sans hadn’t drunk enough to get sick, but his stomach turned as he climbed onto his side of the bed. The wall of blankets and pillows wasn’t enough.

After a few silent minutes, Sans felt a hand seeking his. This time, he slapped the hand away. He knew his brother was only seeking comfort, but there was no way his stupid brain would interpret the gesture correctly now. 

The mattress shifted as Papyrus rolled over to face away from him. There was no wind tonight, and so the sounds of muffled sniffling carried through the balmy air. 

Sans sighed. “Papyrus, come on. Don’t take it personally, okay? It’s just…too weird.”

If Papyrus tried to say something, it was too garbled by crying to make out. 

“Look,” Sans said, pushing himself up onto his elbow to see over the wall. “We had too much wine and it’s not helping anything. You want a cup of water, or something?”

Papyrus looked over his shoulder, cheek wet with tears. “Could I have a story?”

Somehow, that was the boiling point. “Goddamn it, Papyrus!” Shocked at the volume of his own voice, Sans flung himself down on his back, knocking the air from his chest. “No, I’m not gonna tell you a bedtime story. We’re not kids anymore.”

“That never mattered before,” Papyrus said miserably, peeking over the wall with a tear-streaked face. 

Sans turned away, facing the wall. “Yeah, well, things are a little different now, aren’t they?” He pressed a fist to his sternum, hoping to force out whatever lump was building behind it. “We can’t just pretend everything’s normal when it’s not!”

“You’re not being very fair.”

The accusation hit him the wrong way, and Sans sat up, fighting a wave of dizziness that only made him more pissed off. “And what good is Fluffy Bunny supposed to do, huh?”

“It would make me feel better!” Papyrus looked away, scrubbing at his eye sockets with one hand. 

Sans let out a strangled growl and turned away once more. “What do you want, then? Fluffy Bunny Eats The Hearts Of His Foes? Fluffy Bunny Learns Blood Magic? Fluffy Bunny Screws His Relatives To Appease The Backwards Savages?”

“None of those are real stories. Why are you being so mean?”

Sans had no reply, because he truly didn’t know. He was just tired of everything. And maybe he was especially tired of how blase Papyrus was being about this godforsaken ritual. Treating it like an inevitability instead of something they could beat meant…that he had to face it. Including how he felt about what they’d have to do. 

He didn’t want to think about that. And he didn’t want to tell an innocent bedtime story while he was stuck thinking about it. 

He let Papyrus cry while he fought to sort out the painful tangle in his chest. Seven days. That’s all they had left before everything changed and Sans learned exactly the kind of person he was. Before Papyrus started hating him. 

If he didn’t already. 

Hesitant, with a feeling of crossing into hostile territory, Sans rolled over and reached out over the wall with one hand. He found one shivering shoulder and gripped it. Papyrus didn’t shrug him off, though Sans could feel him tensing. 

“I don’t remember how the stories go,” Sans croaked, the lump spreading from his chest to his throat and choking him up. “Honest. It’s been too long. I forgot all of them.”

Papyrus almost laid a hand over Sans’ own. He caught himself just as fingertips ghosted over Sans’ knuckles and took his hand away. “It’s okay. You’re right, I’m too old for stupid things like that.”

“It’s not stupid.” Sans sighed. “I just don’t think I can do that stuff anymore.”

Papyrus was quiet for several minutes. Sans wasn’t sure whether to take his hand away or give Papyrus a hug. He wanted to do that, but at the same time he…really shouldn’t.

“I understand why you’d want to pretend this…isn’t going to happen next week,” Papyrus said, quietly. “What’s the point of pretending the rest of our lives never happened?”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Sans said, though something hit too close to the bone. “It’s just…we can’t have this both ways.”

“But it is both ways.”

“It isn’t supposed to be.”

Papyrus didn’t respond. Sans, following what he hoped was his better judgment, gave him some space, rolling over to face the wall. 

Six days. Could they find any other monster on this island that could stand in as a body double for one of them? No. The priests would be close enough they’d be able to tell. Besides, the monsters here were as devout as the humans. They really thought of themselves as minor deities in their own right. They wouldn’t be willing to help Sans and Papyrus lie to their worshipers. 

Five days. If Sans could find the radio equipment from his airplane, maybe they could contact someone and get rescued. Never mind that Sans had been up and down the beach where the remains of the plane had washed up for weeks on end and found nothing useful. One more check couldn’t hurt.

Nothing. Nada. Just twisted metal and bits of plastic, like always.

Four days. Was Papyrus sure a raft was such a bad idea? What if it was a really big raft? With, like, outriggers and a sail. Once again, Papyrus had the gall to point out that neither of them knew anything about sailing or boatbuilding, and certain death at sea was off the table. Party pooper.

Three days. What about something with…coconuts? It worked on Gilligan’s Island. They could build a new plane out of coconuts, with a coconut radio transmitter, and it would all run on coconut milk, which was chock-full of electrolytes and therefore was basically nature’s battery acid. 

Papyrus told Sans he should maybe go have a lie down.

Two days. Sans had a lie down. 

One day. No ideas left. And no time.

The morning of the rain-making ritual dawned slate gray. Papyrus, ever an early riser, was already gone, leaving Sans to contemplate the day ahead alone. 

It wouldn’t have made much difference if he’d still been in the room. Over the last week the atmosphere between them had cooled even more than the weather outside. They just couldn’t seem to stay civil. Guilt and resentment on both sides had them sniping at each other in ways that went far beyond familial bickering. And so, gradually, they’d stopped talking to one another. 

There would be no avoiding Papyrus today, though, would there?

Fuck.

Flinging an arm over his eye sockets to block out the weak light, Sans gritted his teeth. How had the time passed so quickly? He was supposed to have carried out a brilliant plan to save them both by now, and still he had nothing. And now it was too late.

Maybe that was why Papyrus was so fed up with him. Maybe he’d gotten his brother’s hopes up in spite of himself, only to fail him. 

Not for the first time, Sans felt the urge to walk deep into the forest and stay there. The humans could assume he’d gone back to wherever they thought he’d come from in the first place, and they could just do the ritual the same way they usually did.

Yeah. Sure. And subject Papyrus to one of the priests again. That wasn’t horrifically selfish at all. 

…As if Papyrus being stuck with him was any better.

Even if he’d wanted to abandon his brother, Sans soon ran out of time to escape. His attendants weren’t content to let him sleep in today. They entered the room with a strange mix of reverence and impatience and hassled him until he got out of bed (reverently, Sans assumed— he could still only manage about half of what they were saying). 

The whole day was given over to preparing for the ritual. Sans was bathed by an unnecessarily large team of people who scrubbed him until he was sure his bones had actually been sanded down slightly. He was anointed with fancy oils, which was a messy business with no skin for the oil to soak into. Once that was cleaned up, the more dexterous humans took up bowls of woad and small brushes and started painting looping designs on his hands and feet. 

After half an hour it became apparent that this part of the job wouldn’t be done until Sans’ entire body was covered in the blue pigment. It was far too long to expect a god to stand in one place, in his opinion. The brushes tickled in a vaguely unpleasant way as they swished over his limbs, and it was a fight not to fidget and spoil the painters’ work. Now and then Sans found himself dozing off on his feet, and the attendants had to redo a few sections of his spine and ribs when he stumbled. 

The painters converged on his pelvis last. The ticklish sensation took on an inappropriate undertone, and put him in mind of everything he’d been desperately avoiding thinking about since he’d woken up. It was all Sans could do not to punch them. Only the thought of having to endure the brushes a second time made him stay still.

Dressing, usually an interminable affair, took only a few minutes. Sans was given a simple white kilt and a simple collar of twisted gold. Nothing more. 

Well, no sense having all that stuff in the way, a dark corner of Sans’ mind chipped in. He shushed it, and felt his metaphorical guts flip with anxiety. If he excused himself to go be sick, would the humans interpret it the wrong way?

Probably. 

Sans took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. And then took a few more. They were distinctly not helping.

Once he was fully spruced up, which, including all the bathing, took up over half the day, the attendants left him alone. Sans padded back and forth down the length of the temple, eying the brazier burning in the alcove and wondering where Papyrus was. Sans hadn’t seen him at all since last night. They’d gone to bed and laid in silence as close to their respective edges of the bed as possible, staring at opposite walls. 

If it had been anyone else that Sans was expected to sleep with in front of hundreds of witnesses, he’d have called that a pretty bad sign. It was probably a pretty bad sign regardless. 

He should have said something. He didn’t know what, though. Comforting words would have done no good. And railing against the humans wouldn’t have been any better, with how weirdly protective Papyrus was over them. That was just one more thing to get angry about, and they would have ended up in worse shape than before. Again.

Damn, what if Papyrus had escaped into the forest and left Sans out to dry? Honestly, that might have been a comfort. It was inarguably Sans’ turn to deal with the priests, after all. Why shouldn’t Papyrus get a break this year? 

Unfortunately, Sans knew Papyrus better than anyone, and he wasn’t the type to leave a job undone, no matter how awful. He especially wouldn’t leave Sans holding the bag, even if that might have been preferable to the alternative— assuming either of them could have noped out without the humans turning the island upside down until they were found, of course. Who was to say Papyrus hadn’t already tried something like that in a previous year, and had assumed the idea was pointless to even bring up?

No, Sans was doomed any way he sliced it. 

His gaze pulled back to the brazier again. What had Papyrus said about it? Stay in the smoke for an hour? How long did the effects last? Did it take a while to kick in? He’d hate to mistime it. 

Before he even realized he was walking toward it Sans was standing over the brazier, staring down into the smoldering embers. The smoke was greasy and thick at this distance, and within minutes, Sans had the same lightheaded feeling he’d gotten that first time in the shrine, the day he’d been found. 

One hour, and he wouldn’t have to deal with the ritual at all. That was the idea, right? He could just float through on autopilot and remember next to nothing. Obviously, that was the best option available. Rendering himself brainless was a real no-brainer. 

Then why did this feel like a betrayal?

Was Papyrus going to use the smoke, too? If they were both high off their asses, how could Sans be sure they were safe? Anything might happen, and neither of them would be able to do anything about it or even figure out what had happened after the fact. Or was Papyrus intending on staying sober? That hardly seemed fair, to mentally check out while his brother had to be aware of everything they were doing, and be the only one to remember it later. 

On that note, Sans had no idea how he’d act under the influence of whatever weird shit he was breathing in. He could make a scene, or act like a total creep, and Papyrus would have to deal with that on top of everything else. 

Shit. So much for that idea. Reluctantly, Sans stepped back into fresher air. Judging by the way the wall of the temple seemed slightly…melty, he’d been exposed long enough to fuck himself up a little. If it lasted, that could be enough to take the edge off while leaving him with most of his faculties, anyway. It was the most he’d allow himself. 

Yeah. It was better that he’d have to face this head on and remember it. He deserved as much, with the amount of low-key creeping on Papyrus he’d been doing since he’d got here. Hell, maybe this would traumatize every perverse thought and feeling out of his head and cure him. Wouldn’t that be ironic?

Sure.

Minutes or hours later, the attendants returned. Sans was sure they’d been waiting just outside the temple, whether guarding him from anything trying to get in or guarding against him getting out. Either way, it didn’t matter. None of his pointless planning mattered. None of his cowardice or failure or fucked-up weirdness mattered. 

It was time to go to the shrine.


	8. it's like rain on your wedding day, literally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In short, it starts raining! CW in notes at the bottom.

Standing at the bottom, it looked like a lot of steps. The climb to the top, however, didn’t take nearly long enough. A day wouldn’t have been long enough, or a year or a decade. 

Sans thought longingly of the brazier back at the temple. Why hadn’t he taken advantage of it? He could have sat there and breathed the smoke until up was down and he blacked out the entire day. It might have made the steps a little harder to navigate, but it would have made everything else so much easier.

But that was exactly the problem, wasn’t it? This shouldn’t be easy. It wouldn’t be easy for Papyrus, drugged or not, so why should Sans have any relief? No, he owed it to his brother to witness this. Or maybe he just had the urge to punish himself, to keep a memory to torture himself with later. In all honesty, the selfish motivation was more likely. 

Not that the whys and hows mattered. He was going into this with his mind clear, for better or worse. Too late now.

It was impossible to avoid looking at the altar. That first day, after the crash, Sans had felt a sense of deep foreboding at the sight of the stone table, and today it showed its true colors— which happened to be red. Blood trickled down the channel that ran along the length of the steps. Why did humans have to have so much viscera to them? At the very, very least, there were no bodies. Maybe Papyrus had managed to wield some influence, and the number of ashen, wobbly humans with bandaged arms he’d passed at the base of the steps were all the donors, weakened but alive. Hopefully. Not for their sake, but for his brother’s. 

There were more important things to worry about than the blood or the humans it belonged to, however. The prayers were over and done with while Sans had zoned out watching the blood drip down into the channel. Two more figures had joined Sans’ attendants, a man and woman he recognized as the high priests. He wondered which of them had been his stand-in after the first one offed himself, vaguely homicidal anger welling up at the thought of either of them touching Papyrus against his will. It was hypocritical of him under the circumstances, but he couldn’t quell the feeling if he wanted to. 

He didn’t want to. It felt good to hate someone other than himself.

And then Papyrus stepped out of the shrine, and every human and monster on the island faded from Sans’ awareness. 

Like Sans, he’d been dressed simply in a short white kilt. His jewelry was equally minimal for once, though he still wore the anklets that jingled with each hazy step. Blue woad designs twined over him from head to toe, mirroring Sans’ markings. Sans found his gaze caught up in tracing the winding lines that snaked along each slender limb. They all seemed to lead to the edge of the kilt. Or maybe that was just him. 

Papyrus drew near, swaying slightly on his feet. Reaching out, he laid a hand on the back of Sans’ neck and bumped his forehead gently against Sans’ own. 

“Are you alright?” Papyrus slurred, drowsy and unsteady under the effects of the incense. 

This close, Sans could feel him shivering. “Don’t worry about me.” 

Papyrus sighed, gathering Sans closer. His hands were warm on Sans’ back, and for all Sans knew that Papyrus wanted no part of this, that it was an act for their audience, every touch left a trail of guilty fire along his bones. 

Sans realized he was shaking just as badly as Papyrus was, albeit for different reasons. He hoped he wouldn’t panic and bolt. The consequences for that would no doubt be terrible. Yet even as the worry crossed his mind, Sans knew he wouldn’t run away. Did he even want to?

Leaning to nuzzle against the hinge of Sans’ jaw, Papyrus said, “We shouldn’t keep them waiting too long.” He took a half step back to meet Sans’ gaze, his look asking permission, as if either of them had any alternative. 

Already missing the contact and warmth, Sans made a tiny nod. Time to get it over with. 

The altar was slick with blood, the stone still warm from the last of the volunteer offerings. It was of a height that Sans, trembling as he was, had trouble hopping up on his own. Without a word, Papyrus scooped him into an embrace, a hand sliding down to lift him by the thigh onto the altar. Over his shoulder, Sans caught sight of the priests watching over them, and the fact that they weren’t alone hit him all over again. He clung to Papyrus’ shoulders for a moment, glaring at the humans, willing them to look away, to stop staring. 

Which one of them had it been, these last few years? He needed to know, but for tonight the most he could do was impress on them that their days of laying hands on Papyrus were over. If that was the one good thing to come of this, he’d hold onto it tightly. 

Feeling fabric slide along his knee, Sans glanced down to find that Papyrus had undone his kilt. Sans fought not to stare, to check whether the woad continued as he knew it would. Instead, he made himself watch Papyrus roll up the kilt and place it near the end of the altar. The purpose escaped Sans until Papyrus placed a hand on his chest and gently pushed him down. The back of Sans’ head met soft cloth rather than hard stone.

Oh. He meant it as a pillow. Even at a time like this, Papyrus didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. Affection took Sans by surprise. He didn’t deserve Papyrus on any level, and yet here they were.

Papyrus slid onto the altar, moving without hesitation to straddle Sans’ hips. For a moment, he turned his head to scan the crowd below, his face unreadable. 

Now there was no way Sans could keep from looking. Naked aside from jewelry and dye, Papyrus gleamed softly in the light of the torches. Without clothing to break up the lean lines of his frame, Sans could survey him clearly from head to toe. And he did, with guilty hunger, gaze following the sinuous blue designs without the kilt to interrupt. The slight effects of the incense that still lingered in his head from earlier, making it look like the woad was glowing softly, leaving afterimages in the air when Papyrus moved.

Could Papyrus feel Sans’ bulge through his kilt? Sans hoped not, but it was a pretty unrealistic hope. He’d half hoped and half feared that he’d be so mortified he’d be physically unable to go through with the ritual, and let the humans draw whatever disastrous conclusions the would from it. But of everything that could and was going wrong tonight, performance anxiety didn’t seem to be one of them. 

God, Papyrus must be so grossed out. He had probably expected, reasonably, that they’d have to make a considerable effort to get everything working, so to speak. And here was Sans, painfully hard almost right out of the gate without even being touched. Just the sight of Papyrus on open display, and the knowledge of what was coming, was enough to get him going. Good luck explaining this away in the morning. 

Sans caught himself with his hands hovering over Papyrus’ legs and drew back. No. There was over the line, and then there was over the line. They had no choice but to go through with this, but that didn’t give Sans the right to help himself the way the priests had done. 

At the movement, Papyrus’ attention flickered back to him. He looked puzzled for a moment, looking at Sans’ hands poised indecisively in the air. With a gentle smile, he took hold of Sans’ hands and guided him to rest on his thighs. 

Of course, the real rain kings, if those monsters had ever existed, wouldn’t have shied away from each other. They wouldn’t have found anything out of the ordinary about this at all. And they were being watched by hundreds of pairs of eyes right now. Sans took Papyrus’ meaning, and stepped up his act, caressing Papyrus’ thigh in what he hoped was a reassuring way. They’d get through this together, though Sans had already made the realization that it wouldn’t be nearly as much of an ordeal for him as it would be for Papyrus.

Deft fingers untied Sans’ kilt, and Papyrus rose slightly on his knees to more easily fold the cloth out of the way. The gloom of night was anything but a comfort, and Sans cursed the fact that his dick was its own light source. People could probably see the damn thing from the ground. Ashamed, Sans turned his head away. He didn’t want to see Papyrus’ reaction to his overeagerness. 

Not looking meant he had no warning when Papyrus lowered himself onto him. Sans winced as tight heat enveloped him, and he let out an embarrassing squeak. Papyrus leaned forward to bring his face closer to Sans’, slipping half off until Sans could feel no more than a teasing pressure around the tip. 

“Are you alright?” Papyrus asked, too low for the priests to hear, not that they’d have understood the words. “Sorry, I should have said something.”

“Probably better if you don’t, honestly,” Sans ground out, teeth clenched with the effort of not bucking his hips. 

Nodding his understanding, Papyrus sat back, smoothly, slowly, until Sans was fully sheathed. Sans knew that if he cared to look, he’d see his own dick, faintly, through Papyrus’ own magic. He resolutely did not look, even as Papyrus gently began to move. Jeez, he was being so careful and thoughtful through all this, even high off his ass, and Sans was worse than useless. The least he could do was keep his eye sockets to himself and give Papyrus a little privacy.

The absurdity of that thought struck him at the same time that fingertips brushed his collar bone, trailing up to cup his cheek. Sans turned into the touch to find Papyrus watching him, concern showing through the drug haze. He couldn’t look away again if he tried. 

“Okay?” Papyrus’ voice carried a hint of strain, and still he kept up those maddening little movements that provided just enough friction to keep Sans painfully hard. 

Sans’ grip tightened on Papyrus’ thighs. “Yes.” God, that had come out too enthusiastic, hadn’t it? He was sure it had. 

Was it really fair to make Papyrus do all the work? For all Sans knew, his own passivity was just making this more unpleasant. He had a responsibility to help this go as quickly and painlessly as possible, and he wouldn’t do that lying around like a dead fish. He could speed things along without making it weird. …More weird, anyway.

As Sans moved his hands to grasp Papyrus’ hips, he could have sworn the woad on his arms actually was giving off a faint blue light. Maybe he was getting a fresh contact buzz off the incense smoke clinging to Papyrus’ kilt. He’d welcome it right about now. He thrust up into Papyrus hesitantly, hoping this wasn’t the exact wrong thing to do. His body seemed of the opinion that it was definitely what he should be doing. He bit back a relieved groan.

Sans’ fear had been that Papyrus would lock up, go into whatever traumatized fugue he normally retreated into during this ritual. He was pleasantly surprised when Papyrus relaxed almost immediately, his movements turning more languid. He met Sans’ thrusts with small, encouraging noises, mouth parted slightly. 

Feeling bolder at the idea that Papyrus preferred him sharing the work, Sans let his hands wander from Papyrus’ hips, trailing up his back to caress the bottom of his ribcage and back down again to stroke his thighs, smooth and firm and strong and wonderful. He lavished attention on every part of him that he’d spent the last few weeks trying to avoid even looking at too long. It might help Papyrus keep from tensing up— and tonight was his one and only opportunity to touch.

His efforts were rewarded. Papyrus picked up his tempo, rocking in counterpoint to Sans’ thrusts, sinking deep onto him. He was, Sans was alarmed to realize, good at this, clenching just enough to create a dizzying pull before letting Sans plunge in again. The only sight more arresting than Papyrus’ face, now glazed over and unworried, was his pelvis, where their two colors mingled, blue polluting orange. Every thought left Sans’ head, wiped out by how good it all felt.

Orgasm took him by surprise. He bit down on a cry, vision whiting out for an instant as he cracked his head back on the stone. 

Fuck. Holy shit. Dizzy and mortified, Sans blinked up at Papyrus, who’d stilled above him. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” Papyrus said, fussing with the makeshift pillow even as Sans’ dick still twitched inside him. 

Sans’ skull ached where he’d smacked it, but he was sure it wasn’t cracked or anything. Anyway, he had worse problems. “I’m so sorry,” he said, fighting hysterical laughter at what he was saying and who he was saying it to. “This never happens to me, I swear.”

He looked past Papyrus at the iron-dark sky. It was sprinkling lightly, but he’d hardly call it proper raining. Had he messed it up? Had coming too soon ruined everything?

Idiot, he scolded himself, of course it hadn’t. They weren’t actually causing it to rain, it was just a trick of timing, that was all. In which case his timing had been miserably off. 

He was sure of one thing, though. He was definitely on a contact high, because Papyrus was definitely glowing. Blue lines shimmered along his bones, and even the spilled blood on the altar had a blue luminescent sheen to it spreading from every point of contact they both made with it and spreading, until even the blood in the channel took on a soft light. He must be high. Nice. Maybe he’d get lucky and black out the rest of the night like Papyrus probably would. 

One of Papyrus’ fingers was already pushing into him when Sans tore his wandering attention from the sky and back to current events. He flinched at the intrusion, less from discomfort (of which there was little) than from the fact he hadn’t noticed having that particular organ available, or Papyrus rearranging their position.

Papyrus said nothing, kneeling between Sans’ knees and questioning only with his gaze. He rubbed gently at Sans’ inner walls, testing. It was too early for them to stop and call the ritual done, but Papyrus was too much of a gentleman to make assumptions. Though Sans was pretty obviously ready to go, physically. That was all that mattered, since the humans weren’t giving them a whole lot of choice otherwise. 

Sans wouldn’t admit it out loud, but in the privacy of his own head he couldn’t hide from the knowledge that he was very much ready to go in every sense. 

Nerves got the better of him, and he flinched at his own nervous laughter. “Guess you gotta do everything around here, huh?”

“As always,” Papyrus tutted, and the chiding was so normal and so expected that Sans almost forgot to feel weird about Papyrus’ dick sliding easily inside him. 

There really wasn’t any thinking happening after that. At all. With one arm, Papyrus propped himself up, and with the other he cradled Sans so he wouldn’t scrape against the stone as they moved together. Papyrus was as careful in this as he was with his magic. There was no hint of discomfort, just a smooth, steady build, and there was a real danger that Sans wouldn’t last long enough this time, either. 

Sans didn’t notice the human blood around them taking on a brighter glow, or the rain growing steadily stronger, or the priests nearby, the crowd of worshipers below. Just Papyrus, framed against the sky above them, blissed-out and smiling down at him.

He lasted long enough, but just barely. 

Exhaustion made his limbs heavy. The rain pelted them, cold and driving. It turned Sans to wet clay, and though he forced himself to sit upright, he slumped against Papyrus as though everything worth doing had been done, and all that was left was to rest and wait for the sky to finish falling down on them. Papyrus matched his lean, each propping up the other like standing stones. Sans felt Papyrus’ chest heaving, breaths slowing gradually as a sort of supple tiredness loosened his embrace. 

The couples at the base of the earthworks were busy with their own affairs, enjoying each other and the rain, so only the priests were left to pay much attention to their gods. The high priests approached the altar.

Sans lacked the energy for more than a small blaster, but the display itself was enough to make the humans stop in their tracks.

“Back off,” Sans rasped, still eager for an excuse to fry both of them. 

With a puzzled hum, Papyrus lifted his head from Sans’ skull. “Hmm? I’m not carrying you back to the temple, you know,” he slurred, voice pleasantly drowsy. 

The words broke whatever temporary insanity had made Sans almost comfortable. Reality returned, chilling the rain by a few degrees and dousing the gentle glow from the world. Glumly, Sans dispelled the blaster and let the priests help them to their feet. Losing contact with Papyrus cracked through him as a physical pain, because now it was done. Now it was past tense, over, and he’d done something horrible that he’d long for every day until the next monsoon season. 

How many years of this would it take for Papyrus to hate him completely? Could Sans get them off this island before next year? Was it already too late? 

Papyrus didn’t act traumatized, but he was in front of his worshipers on the most important night of the year. He’d told Sans what had happened when he’d let his true feelings show. Of course he wouldn’t let anything slip. 

Damn it. 

The trek back home (well, to the temple) was a drawn-out affair, the humans stumbling their way through the rain-drenched darkness. Cooking fires and lamps still burning indoors threw off enough light to provide some guidance, but it was slow going all the same. 

Sans walked with resigned detachment. There was nothing left to be anxious about, which was almost a blessing. Now he was just tired, and vaguely sick. At his side, Papyrus was silent save for the jingling of his anklets as he walked. He was a good deal more sure-footed than the rest of the procession, but then he’d always been fairly graceful. And he’d walked this route enough times to know every turn by heart. 

Lamps had been left burning inside the temple, casting a warm orange glow into the night, welcoming them home. The bulk of the humans stopped at the foot of the steps, beyond which only the priests were allowed to go. Sans would have preferred them to stay outside, too, but of course no one had asked him. 

Once inside, he and Papyrus were separated once more while their respective priests washed off the woad they’d painstakingly painted only hours before. Not for the first time, Sans wondered how these people got it into their heads that gods of rain wouldn’t be able to handle a bath on their own. The bath itself was good, though— clinical touches from people he didn’t give a rat’s ass about scouring off every trace of the night’s activities. If he’d been left to himself, Sans probably would have scrubbed himself raw, despite the fact that he didn’t feel as unclean as he knew he ought to. 

Clean and dressed in clothes that carried the now-familiar trace of spices, Sans was gently herded, along with Papyrus, into the bedchamber. Some attendant had stripped out the bedding and replaced it with fresh things, plus several furs to account for the storm making the night cooler. The clean, cool fabric and the faint animal scent of the furs was lulling, but Sans would be surprised if he managed to get to sleep. He was also beginning to wonder if the priests intended to bring them a glass of milk and read them a bedtime story, but they finally bid their farewells and went the hell away. The lamplight retreated with the humans, leaving the two brothers in darkness. 

Under the covers, Papyrus’ hand found his, fingertips brushing tentatively as if expecting to be slapped away. Sans took Papyrus’ hand in his and squeezed. 

“I can sleep in the other room,” Sans said, flinching at the tremor in his own voice.

“No,” Papyrus said, and offered no further explanation.

Sans didn’t shy away when Papyrus moved to curl around him, long limbs draped over him with comforting weight and face burrowed into the crook of Sans’ neck. It was good to be held right now, even if he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was asking too much of Papyrus’ forgiving nature. Sans rubbed circles in Papyrus’ back, feeling the rise and fall of his ribcage and trying to recapture the feeling of peacefulness he’d had on the altar. 

The feeling wouldn’t come back. The moment was well and truly over.

They should talk. Have a debriefing session, or something. Waiting would only make it harder. 

“Papyrus?”

No reply. Just soft snoring. Papyrus was already asleep.

Sans couldn’t help a small scoff of disbelief. “You’re ganking my signature move, bro,” he whispered into the darkness. “Falling asleep to get out of something I don’t wanna do is my thing.”

If Papyrus had been faking sleep, he’d have piped up to defend himself and deny any allegation of dishonesty or shirking. He didn’t, so he was out for real. 

For some indeterminate length of time, Sans stared at the ceiling, thinking of all the ways in which he was seriously messed up. Was the brazier still going in the main room? If he was careful, maybe he could slip away without waking Papyrus and cop enough of a high off the smoldering coals to get to sleep. …But that would require moving. Moving, standing, walking, making any effort to do anything right now was utterly beyond him. On the other hand, if he could just lie very still, he could pretend he didn’t exist. He was a Sans-shaped gap in the universe, and Papyrus was sleeping comfortably next to nothing at all. At the moment, it was a nice thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: dubious consent (duh), PIV intercourse sans (lol) gory details, incestuous sex (that's why y'all here, I'm assuming!)
> 
> You ever get to a point where you just gotta shut your eyes and hit "Post"? I don't know if this really delivered on my buildup, and smut's not my strongest area, but I gave it my best shot! This is a non-GMO, open source AU, so feel free to write something hotter/better if you're feeling froggy. ;)


	9. epilogue: singin' in the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inevitable morning after doesn't go as expected.

There was no sunlight shining through the small window of the bedchamber in the early morning. There was only the thin, gray illumination that managed to filter through the heavy clouds and the continuing rain. Sans lay under the furs, listening to the rain drum against the roof of the temple. He was about to roll over and go back to sleep when he noticed he had the whole bed to himself.

The furs and blankets were kicked aside on Papyrus’ side of the bed, and he wasn’t in the room. Sans forced himself not to read into it. His brother didn’t need a whole lot of sleep, and he didn’t like to loaf around doing nothing. He’d just gotten up for the day, that was all. Maybe a wave of disgust and revulsion hadn’t washed over him when he woke up this morning and saw who was sharing his bed. It was a possibility. It probably wasn’t a sudden strong need to be far away from Sans. 

Right, and Sans was a concert trombonist. 

Guilt and worry teamed up to goad Sans out of bed after a few minutes’ worth of moping. They hadn’t spoken last night, but today they’d need to clear the air. If not, Sans knew he’d lose his nerve and decide never to speak of it, and that wasn’t fair when he owed Papyrus an apology. 

Sans found him in the temple entrance, sitting against one of the large posts of the archway. The wool blanket draped around his shoulders trailed the floor, bright red and blue geometric patterns standing out from the stone. Outside, the rain continued to fall in sheets. Without any wind to push it around, it fell straight down, obscuring the street below and muffling all sound in a steady hiss. 

“It’s really coming down, isn’t it?” It was a lame opener, but Sans was at a loss for anything else to say, and he couldn’t stand in silence all morning.

Papyrus nodded, still staring fixedly outside at the rain. “This is as steady as I’ve ever seen it. I know it’s silly, but I almost feel proud.”

“Heh, well this is the job, right?” Sans said, gesturing at the downpour. He stepped forward and put a hand out into the open, letting the cool water patter over his open palm. He watched it drip down through the bones for an awkward moment. “I don’t mean to be, y’know, glib,” he added, certain that that had been the least sensitive thing he could have said right now.

“I know.”

“Are you…okay?” Sans shifted his weight from foot to foot. Why wouldn’t Papyrus look at him? “I can clear out of the bedroom if you want to sleep some more.”

“That’s alright,” Papyrus said. “I got plenty of rest.”

“Oh. Okay.” Sans stood there for a moment longer, trying to decide on a course of action. At last he gave up and sat down on the floor, close enough that he could reach out and touch the rain but far enough back to stay dry. 

Minutes passed, how many Sans wasn’t sure. A small gang of children ran by on the street laughing and hollering and splashing in every puddle they could find. Otherwise, it seemed that everyone had decided to hole up indoors for the first day of the monsoon. 

“I’m sorry,” Papyrus said, so quietly that Sans barely caught it over the din of the rain.

Sans frowned. “What for?”

“Everything, I suppose. You could have had a good life and remembered me fondly along with all our other friends, and now you can’t.” He sighed. “And it’s selfish, that I’m so glad you’re stuck here with me. I don’t even want to go back home now that you’re here.”

“I wasn’t having a good life,” Sans said. “The only thing that even kept me hanging around was thinking I owed it to you to make absolutely sure you were gone before I checked out. Pretty sure that ain’t normal.”

“Sans…”

“Sorry, I know you don’t like me talking like that, but that’s where my head was.” Sans looked out at the street below, now more of a shallow stream than anything. “But see? Everything you’re worried about, it never could have happened, anyway. Without you around, there isn’t any point.”

Papyrus sat up straighter. “You mean that?”

Sans glanced over to find Papyrus watching him closely, face open and unguarded. “Well, yeah. Of course.” Sans had always thought his devotion was pretty obvious, but maybe it wasn’t. His bad, if so. “Did you? I mean, you don’t miss everyone else?”

Papyrus shrugged. “I couldn’t go back if I wanted to,” he said, hesitant. “And now that you’re here, I don’t want to. I’m sorry.”

“What do you keep apologizing for?” Hoping he wasn’t doing the wrong thing, Sans scooted closer to lay a hand on Papyrus’ shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Papyrus said again, his gaze dropping to San’s hand. “I don’t know how you can even stand to look at me, after…”

Ah. Right. “There wasn’t any way we could have avoided it,” Sans said. “You know that even better than I do.”

“But you don’t understand.” Papyrus’ breath hitched. He turned the other way to stare resolutely down into the street. “Do you remember the smoke I told you about, that makes my head fuzzy so I can get through the ritual?”

“Yeah,” Sans said, a guilty twist creeping through his insides. “You told me about it the night before…the night before last.”

Papyrus nodded miserably. “I didn’t use it last night.”

Sans sat up straight. “You didn’t?” Which meant that Papyrus had been perfectly lucid through all that, too. But why? Everything he’d said about his previous rituals had made it sound so traumatic for him. 

“I…Please don’t hate me. I couldn’t bear it if you hated me.” The hitch in his breath broke into a sob. 

Sans wrapped his arms around him, not knowing what else to do. “Hey, calm down! I could never hate you, Papyrus, why would you think that?”

“Because I wanted to remember it,” Papyrus said, forcing himself to speak between sobs. “I knew I wouldn’t be scared if it was you, and…I’m such a horrible person, because you were so distraught about having to go through with it, and that’s the right way to feel about it,” he went on, stumbling over his words as they came out faster and faster, “but I was so looking forward to it. Last night was the happiest I’ve been in such a long time. I’m sorry. I took complete advantage, and I won’t blame you if you hate me.”

Sans’ mind buzzed like a kicked hornet’s nest. If he had a whole month he couldn’t sort out exactly what he was feeling at this moment. Right now, though, maybe making sense of all that wasn’t the important thing. “Y’know,” he said, shaky, “funny you should mention it, but I never got around to using that stuff, either. Not enough to make a difference.”

Papyrus froze in his arms. Sans could almost feel him listening with all his might. 

“I just figured it’d be safer if one of us had a clear head, and…” He trailed off, wondering why he was still so cagey after what he’d just been told. A weight was off him, but the last vestiges of normal decency were hard to let go of, clinging like dried meat on a non-magic bone. “And anyway, did I seem that upset?” He laughed, and the sound fell desperately flat. 

“I thought…” Papyrus was shivering, probably not from the chill of the rain. “I thought you were out of your right mind.”

“I thought you were whacked out, too, but I guess the joke was on us, huh? We played ourselves.” Hell, they really had. Not just last night, but for weeks on end. Was some MTT goon gonna walk out with a camera now and tell them they’d been punked? 

They’d done all that completely sober. Between that fact and Papyrus’ confession, they were suddenly in a very different place than Sans had thought this morning. 

“So, you’re not angry? You don’t hate me?” There was something heartbreaking hiding in Papyrus’ face, as though life and death hung on the Sans’ answer. 

No amount of fear could keep Sans from speaking the truth. Not when he was looking into that face. If Papyrus really felt that way, if there was a shot at something that wasn’t violation and resentment… If Papyrus actually wanted this, then all of Sans’ worries about what was natural or perverse or whatever could go straight to hell. He’d sort out all of that later, on his own time. 

Sans kissed him. It wasn’t a decision so much as an inevitability. The elation he felt when Papyrus kissed him back drowned out the guilt that still clung onto him— that would probably take a long time to completely kill, but he’d lived with it. 

If Papyrus hadn’t been holding him tightly he felt like he might float away like a balloon.

“I love you more than anything. Okay?” Sans leaned in to rest their foreheads together, the way Papyrus had done last night to comfort him. “And anyone who would think we’re freaks or something is thousands of miles away, right? As long as you’re happy, I don’t care.”

Papyrus hugged him tight, weeping quietly. A month’s worth of clotted self-recrimination and loathing started to break apart in Sans’ chest. He stroked Papyrus’ back and murmured soothing half-phrases. To think Papyrus had been twisting himself into knots all this time, all because Sans had been too cowardly to admit how he actually felt. But, at the same time, he knew why Papyrus hadn’t said anything. Apparently Sans wasn’t the only one who liked to overthink and get stuck in his own head. They’d both been so scared of hurting each other, and they’d both decided it was better to let themselves hurt instead. It was kind of funny, in a weird way. Symmetrical. 

Later, Sans would figure out a way to make it up to him. Right now, he simply held him and let himself be held.

It was going to take a while to get used to this new dimension in their life together. Sans wasn’t niave enough to think that everything would be easy now that the truth was in the open. They hadn’t been raised here, and this didn’t feel normal. But then, neither of them were normal, either. Clearly.

It was warm, wrapped up in the blanket. Slotted against Papyrus’ body like a jigsaw piece in its proper place, Sans felt the rhythmic rise and fall of Papyrus chest as he slowly cried himself out, and listened to the rain. The tension he’d been carrying for so long was gone, and now it was all he could do to keep his eye sockets open.

“Sans!” Papyrus’ voice lacked the note of indignant command it usually held, croaky from crying. “How can you fall asleep at a time like this?”

Sans grinned up at him. “Easy,” he said. “Like this.” He made a point to burrow his head more firmly under Papyrus’ chin. 

“I am having an emotional breakdown!”

“No, you’re not. I was just dumb and stressed you out too long.” Sans gave him an apologetic squeeze. “Sorry. I was being a real _bone_ head, huh?”

“Oh, don’t you even think about injecting your awful puns into this conversation,” Papyrus snapped, the primal part of himself that only puns could reach lighting up like an annoyed roman candle even as he kept crying. “This is serious!”

“Totally,” Sans said, nodding his head solemnly. “Nothing _humerus_ about it.”

If Papyrus had eyelids, Sans was sure at least one would be twitching. “That’s not even thematically appropriate to our current situation!”

True enough, Sans wasn’t quite on top of his pun game this morning, for obvious reasons. Bone puns were as natural as breathing, so he’d dropped a couple without thinking. But Papyrus was right, as always. He could do better. “When you’re right, you’re right, Papyrus.” Still buoyed by a confusing mix of relief and elation and half a dozen other emotions that filled him to the brim, Sans leaned up to give Papyrus a light peck on the mouth, just to try it out. “I really _mist_ the mark with that last one.”

“Sans,” Papyrus said, blinking as his fingertips came up to his mouth of their own accord. “I love you, but if one more inane bit of codswallop comes out of your mouth, I’m throwing you out into the rain.”

“Ah, come on, bro.” Sans couldn’t help grinning as he caught the hint of a smile pass across Papyrus’ face. “I _drought_ you’d do something so mean to-”

Before he could tack on another pun or even finish his sentence, Papyrus really did shove him out from under the archway into the downpour. He’d always been a man of his word.

“Ack!” Any trace of drowsiness was thoroughly rinsed off by the cold rain. And this meant war. Scrambling to his feet, Sans grabbed Papyrus’ arms and pulled. He wasn’t strong at all, but the element of surprise was on his side and Papyrus tumbled forward, the blanket slipping from his shoulders.

“Oh!” Papyrus jumped up, shivering as water sluiced down his back. “Cold! Sans, you miscreant!”

“You started it!” Sans led them on a chase down the temple steps. Wasn’t like he was gonna get any more drenched, so may as well have some fun. He let Papyrus catch up to him once they were close to an especially big puddle. “I was just trying to _shower_ you with affection,” he said, and gave Papyrus a shove. 

“Sans!” With an indignant squawk, Papyrus tipped over. At the last second, he reached out and grabbed, Sans by the arm, pulling him down too. He was careful to break Sans’ fall, of course, and they were both laughing by the time they landed with a splash in the mud.

They were back to how they were sitting under the archway, except now they were cold and wet and getting pelted with rain, in the middle of a mud puddle. Sans barely noticed any of it, happy to hold tightly on to Papyrus, and even happier when Papyrus squeezed back. The kids playing on the street ran past again, pausing to run in delighted, shrieking circles around their gods before chasing each other back down the lane. 

Papyrus watched them fondly without letting Sans go, joy all but rolling off him in waves. “This is really okay?”

This encompassed a hell of a lot that Sans would need time to think about, but without having to think at all he said, “Yeah. Way more than okay.” And to his own surprise, for the first time in years, he meant that.

They stayed there under the rain for a long while. And while they talked about a lot of things, there was no more talk of anyone sleeping on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are! I honestly hope it was worth the wait (from 2016, for one extremely patient angel of a woman). If not, I'm sure someone else can pick up this football and run with it! The pacing for this story is...not something I'm super happy with, due to the development hell it was stuck in and the cuts I had to make for my own sanity and for the sake of getting it done. Hopefully it was fun, anyway! 
> 
> It's almost four years to the day since I first started drafting this silly thing. Did it need to take that long? Absolutely not. But it just goes to show, you can finish that thing at the back of your word processor if you want to, even if it's been a while. :v
> 
> Long may they reign (don't get mad, Papyrus, that's the proper word) on their weird little cult island, being beach bums and eating fancy fruit salads every day.


End file.
